The Adventures of Dave and Grey
by Chaoticat
Summary: A long, twisted retelling of VtM: Bloodlines. Dave is a fledgling Nosferatu, Grey is an old pal from his past who somehow ended up Malkavian, together they must survive in the Final Nights... It's really not as silly as it sounds. Updates sporadically.
1. The Ninja Dies

**The Adventures of Dave and Grey**

**Chapter 1: The Ninja Dies**

It was Saturday night and Dave was determined not to let the week go out as a total loss. He told himself he would take the night off, just get out and have a good time. Unfortunately, his new ultra cool, wafer thin, and very expensive digital camera had somehow managed to find its way into his pocket. If he really meant to take the night off he wouldn't have started in Hollywood, either.

In the first club he tried he happened upon Jamison Benz- shit-faced and surrounded by giggling women, naturally- and he fell back into the old routine. Two clubs and several drinks later landed him in the Asp Hole, which turned out to be a bad idea. The rumors were true; Ash Rivers had apparently developed sixth since for any paparazzi lurking around. Dave was politely escorted out by a nice man with no neck before he could even order a drink.

By midnight he had somehow managed to find his way across town, to a bar that made no pretenses of catering to anyone but the down and out. He vaguely remembered a phone call to one of his connections, who told him pictures of Benz drunk were a dime a dozen and The Comet had already done a six page spread of them last week. Dave sat hunched over the bar with a beer in one hand and his cell phone in the other, waiting for divine inspiration or alcohol to tell him what to do next.

He kept cycling through his list of contacts as he tried to think of what he could bargain with to pay the bills. Back in the old days he could have leaned on Grey to fix things. Paul Grey, never Paul because he said he always hated that name. They went way back, back to when they were both struggling actors landing nothing but extra roles in bad movies. They met at the snack table on the set of Fists of Doom 4, and from there they developed the closest relationship two straight guys could develop without getting confused.

Grey could always be depended on to help out when he was in a fix. Grey had also gone missing three years ago, with no warning or forwarding address. Dave could never think of a good reason why anyone would want to murder or kidnap a no-name tabloid reporter, so he chocked it up to being a woman or family issue and moved on with his life. On his nineteenth pass through the phone's library of names he realized he had a hell of a lot of contacts, but no real friends left. The thought of that, and Grey's disappearance, prompted him to order something stiffer. He toasted to Grey and winced as it burned its way to the pit of his stomach. He hadn't eaten anything in hours, a recipe for disaster, but he was too depressed to care.

This wasn't supposed to happen to him. He was the best in the business, David "The Ninja" Kim, notorious for bypassing the ban on telephoto lenses by sneaking dangerously close to the stars. From somewhere beyond the haze of alcohol developing a voice told him maybe that was the problem. All that stealth didn't mean a damn thing when he bragged about it later. People- high profile people- recognized him, they looked out for him.

It didn't help that he had a habit of buying nice things he didn't need, nice things like the camera in his pocket that he'd bought that very afternoon when he had ducked into an electronics store to loose Carmen Vasquez's bodyguards. The damn camera caught his eye before he even caught his breath. Stress made people do stupid things, so it wasn't like he could be blamed.

Everyone had off weeks, and sometimes they had off months, too. His job was largely a matter of being in the right place in the right time and being able to run faster than any given celebrity's bodyguard or boyfriend. "The Ninja" was good at that. "The Ninja" was going to become a full-blown alcoholic if things didn't change soon. Dave took another drink, assured himself he was no Benz.

He saw someone sit down next to him from the corner of his eye, and as he turned the look the twinge in his side reminded him that he'd failed that last part earlier in the week. The pictures of Leslie Liam scratching herself in public had gone for a thousand, but since half of that had gone to medical bills Dave was still in a bad position. The woman sitting at the bar stool next to his must have seen some of the desperation in his face. She looked at him like he was a lost puppy in a silk shirt and fashionably tattered jeans. Black with blue flames, he realized, was a lame trend in shirts that he never should have fallen for. He sat up a little straighter and put the cell phone away to try and scrape together a few shreds of dignity, but then the room lurched dangerously. He realized, a little too late, that he was drunk. He saw all the bottles lined up behind the bar were a blur of interesting colors, and he knew that he was actually _really_ drunk. The woman laughed and put a hand on his shoulder to steady him.

"Careful," she said, smiling kindly. Women never smiled kindly at him. They never looked at him unless they'd had a few or were willing to skim the mediocre end of the dating pool.

Dave blinked, trying to make sure that the vision he was seeing wasn't just the booze sloshing around in his head. She was good looking, with short hair with highlights that probably cost as much as the coat with the weird, feathery lining. She looked at him with the kind of interest that could be considered either creepy or flattering, and the alcohol convinced him it could only be flattering. It also told him that he was not a pathetic loser, that he was damned good looking even if everyone described him as 'average and Asian', and that he could totally score with a chick like the one sitting next to him. He grinned, opened his mouth, and later was totally unable to recall what kind of words had been exchanged in order to lead to them to a room together. Names might have been exchanged, but he couldn't remember hers. He was content with being able to remember his.

Dave felt like he was being skipped head from one disjointed moment in time from the next, but before he could stop and try to put things back in order he was moving ahead again. They were outside the club, in a cab, then a room. Clothes were coming off at that point, so he didn't really mind the feeling of being helplessly whisked away. It kind of turned him on. The place was an absolute dive, with the debris from either several nights of sex or one big orgy scattered all over the place. Once the woman's tongue was in his mouth and his shirt was off he decided that was okay.

When he was down to his pants he clumsily tried to make it even by taking off her bra. She laughed when he was unsuccessful with the clasp and pushed him back on to the bed. He landed with a grunt, way harder than he expected. She was stronger than she looked.

There was a mirror over the bed. While Dave and his reflection were exchanging bewildered looks she straddled him and handcuffed both his hands to the bedposts. That was okay, he didn't mind spicing things up. He stared at himself in the mirror, so drunk and stupid it made him laugh. Who cared? He was still gonna get laid. The woman titled her head up so he could see her reflection grinning back at him.

"I want to show you something," she said.

And then the woman in the mirror, the woman on top of him, melted away. Dave gaped at what replaced her. No amount of alcohol could make what was on top of him in her place look good. She was still smiling, showing all the jagged yellow teeth that jutted from her lips. She was still almost naked, and for one surreal moment Dave was glad he hadn't managed to get her bra off. Her pebbly skin was dotted with oozing boils. She was still on top of him, and his hands were still handcuffed to the bed.

He didn't think to scream until she leaned in and sank those jagged fangs into his throat. The ecstasy that flooded him chased away the pain and terror, made him careless to the fact he could hear his heartbeat slowing to nothing. Dying didn't seem that bad, just as long as that feeling never ended.

He felt like he was floating above himself, but then again it might have been the mirror on the ceiling. The woman- the creature, whatever she was- pulled away from him. Black spots danced in front of his eyes. He blinked, and found it was difficult to force his eyes back open. He saw her cut her own wrists with fingernails that were like claws. He let his eyes slide closed, but still felt it as she pushed his head back with one hand and pressed the bleeding wrist to his mouth. Fire oozed down his throat, spreading out through his body and ripping his eyes open. It was better than before. He tried to lean forward, press her closer, but he was stuck. The creature pulled away from him and crawled off of him. As she rose from the bed she teetered and nearly fell, but she caught herself on the nightstand.

"Goddamn, how much did you drink?" Even her voice had changed. He vaguely remembered it as being melodious. Now it was just harsh and raspy. The slur was probably something separate.

"Dunno," Dave said. It wasn't what he meant to say. He wanted to ask what she had done to him, what she was, what the hell she thought she was doing. He wanted to demand she let him go, be reasonable, let him shake off whatever drug she'd slipped into his drink. And instead he said _that_.

The word was barely out of his mouth when he felt something in his guts twist, felt his guts actually start to shift position entirely. Pain followed like thunder after a lightning strike, making him forget about how thirsty he suddenly was.

In the middle of the screaming the creature moved back and gagged him with a sock. She wiped her hands, with their grotesquely long fingers, and moved away to have a seat at a chair that faced the bed. It groaned bled a little more stuffing from the tears along the back. As Dave writhed and pulled against the handcuffs, the beautiful woman he'd followed out of the bar reappeared in the monster's place. She gave him the same sweet smile from before, all perfect teeth and glossy lips.

"Don't struggle like that, sweetheart," the woman said. Her voice was normal again to match her face, and husky like she was really getting off on watching him in agony. "This is going to take a while. It'll only make things worse if you struggle. I know."

He realized what she meant when in the mirror he saw the first sores rise on his chest. Some of them burst, oozing puss down his chest as his skin began to turn jaundice yellow. He screamed, and the sound muffled by the gag. The woman laughed and crossed her legs, settling in to watch.


	2. Portends, Promises, and Coffee

**Chapter 2: Portends, Promises, and Coffee**

As the rain slacked off to nothing Grey thought of it as the last drops wrung from the oily rag the night sky had become. It was dangerous to simplify too much. Not knowing what might seep into his skin had driven him to seek refuge in the Surfside Diner, and for the sake of appearances he had no choice but to order something he'd never drink. He looked down at his cup of coffee, which was still full and steadily moving from hot to lukewarm. There were no odd looks from the waitress, who had gone somewhere private to singe her lungs in peace. No one suspected that disaster loomed over the diner.

It was late, and even with the rain the only others present in the diner were a couple whispering to each other from their lover's sanctuary a few booths away. Grey had more important things to do than eavesdrop, like the problem that had developed with the coffee cup.

He kept both hands wrapped firmly around the cup. At first it was to leach away some of the warmth, but as he watched the rain and thought about it he became certain that in reality he was the only thing holding the cup together. With the rain gone he came to realize that if he kept holding on to the cup then the cracks that had formed in its surface would spread to him until finally he crumbled to pieces all over the corner both he was sitting in.

Very slowly, going against everything his mind was telling him, he took his hands away from the cup. It was whole, it stayed whole, and so did he. Grey relaxed, relieved that his outside hadn't cracked to match the inside of his head. That was the last thing he needed, no matter how much a relief it might be. He slumped down in his seat until his head was level with the table.

"Deceiver," he whispered to the cup of coffee. "So full of lies and caffeine. You think you're so clever, but I won't fall for that again."

The coffee handled his accusations stoically and continued to grow cold in response. The sudden silence from beyond his table inspired Grey to risk looking away from the coffee and to the shirtless young man facing him from the other booth. He had the musculature and vacant-eyed stare of a surfer, but he was obviously from out of town, as all the local surf-kids had learned to ignore him ages ago. Grey had first won his attention several minutes ago when he had negotiated a peace treaty between his table's assembly of sugar packets and their arch enemies the artificial sweeteners. That was because he was bored, not because he was crazy. He knew that the moment he left the diner the alliance of artificial sweeteners, led by the traitorous sugar-based sweetener, would rise up and overthrow the sugar. It just couldn't be helped.

As surfer watched Grey lifted the cup of coffee and pretended to sip. A few seconds later and his companion, a red-haired girl in a tie-dye shirt whom Grey vaguely recognized, called his attention back to her. They resumed talking in low tones about nothing of any consequence. Grey put the cup down and wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand, visions of projectile vomiting danced in his head. So long as no one was looking he decided to retaliate against the coffee by defiling it with one container of non-dairy creamer after another.

He stopped at six containers, remembering that that was how he used to take his coffee back when he could swallow stuff like that without violently regurgitating it seconds later. The memory made him pause, and that was when he saw something was hidden in the swirls of cream spreading though the bitter dark He frowned, trying to concentrate on it, and as he looked it appeared the light and dark swirled and coalesced to form the vague image of a screaming face.

He looked up again, but his failure to make a spectacle of himself in the past few minutes meant everyone in the diner was now ignoring him, even the hag at the register. Good. Grey slid out from the booth and left a few crumpled bills on the table to pay for the wasted time and coffee. Feeling as though his purpose might be betrayed, Grey walked out of the diner as inconspicuously as he could. He made it as far as the couple before an odd feeling made him look over. The girl was tracing patterns in her full glass of water, while her shirtless companion was picking at the last of the fries on his plate.

"All good things will wilt away in time," Grey said, the words out of his mouth before he could stop him. The couple looked at him with the usual look of confusion and fear. Grey looked to the clock, which was beginning to melt like wax in agreement with what he'd said. He looked back to them, focusing on the girl, "And honey suckles… They never have as much juice as you think."

The hag at the register was about to move to chase him out. Grey preempted her with his voluntary exit. The couple was still staring at him as he left, dumbfounded. He couldn't save everyone, so he focused on what the coffee had told him.

Once outside he looked around. Pedestrians were timidly emerging now that the rain had gone, but he was fairly certain none of them had any idea about what he had seen. He was still safe, but he'd have to move quickly just be sure. It was just a matter of following the lead he'd been giving, moving from one source to the next. He found the answer half a block away, in a puddle that had formed on the sidewalk. While people were forced to move around him and mutter about Santa Monica freaks, Grey looked up to the windows of the building across the street.

"That's it!"

He didn't say it, but one of the voices in his head did. He decided, without any encouragement from them, that he ought to go tell someone about what he'd seen. The only viable option he could think off also happened to be across the street. The man stationed outside of the Asylum's doors nodded to Grey as he completely ignored the line wrapped around the building in favor of going right in. He paused long enough to soak in the assortment of envious gazes from the people in line before he stepped inside.

Behind the bar was the same obese, heavily tattooed bartended that had replaced the thin, squirrelly looking fellow who had disappeared completely for reasons Grey didn't care to think about. The new bartender, his attitude and body odor aside, appeared to be much more resilient. Grey didn't know his name, but he thought it best not to get too attached in any case.

"Oh, god, not you again." It was as much of a greeting as he ever received.

"I'm pretty sure it is," Grey agreed. A couple of the founts of angst gathered around forgot about their creed and looked curiously his way. They slid away to resume their carefully practiced disinterest with the world at large once they determined Grey was too normal looking to be anything special. That made him grin, which made the bartender nervous.

He recovered himself quickly. "I guess you're here to see one of the twins."

"I've seen both, and they're glorious," Grey said with a dreamy smile. Then he remembered himself. "But I'm not here for that. Tonight I'm here to see the lighter half. It's already too dark to deal with the other."

"Right, whatever the fuck that means." The bartender, ignoring the cries for drinks around him, withdrew a cigar from somewhere under the bar and lit it. Grey cringed along with the Beast, but it went unnoticed.

The bartender didn't speak again until he exhaled a plume of smoke. "Therese is in, that's it."

"Oh, damn," Grey frowned. "I always fumble in the dark. With. I mean _with_ the dark."

"Uh, yeah, sure. Thing is, she's got her boy toy or whatever the hell he is up there."

"Her worshipper? Her _moth_?" Grey considered the situation for a moment. The music from the band on stage was loud enough to overwhelm even the voices in his head, which were insistent that he get on with it. A few had some other, totally unrelated suggestions, but he ignored them for his own sake. There just wasn't enough time.

He went against his better judgment and said, "I have an offering of my own. She may like it better."

"Christ, can't you ever just say what you mean?"

Grey looked at the bartender as if he were an idiot. This one was still clueless, but after what happened to the last it was probably for the better.

"Everything I say has meaning… Sometimes I'm not sure what it is, but I know there's always meaning."

The bartender shook his head and pressed the button hidden under the bar.

When Grey didn't immediately move away, he waved him off with the same hand holding the cigar. "Just go already."

Grey fought down the Beast and its clambering to flee even from something as innocuous as the cigar's smoldering tip, but he still moved quickly to the elevator. Once the metal doors slid closed the noise from the club was dulled slightly. The button marked '2' promised tolerable levels once he reached the second level. Grey took a moment to compose himself, the buzz in his head almost comforting after the cacophony and vague threat of fiery death outside. He was beginning to feel that he must be having one of his more lucid nights, whatever that amounted to. Once he pressed the button for the second floor he was proven wrong. As the car lurched upward, the tight space melted away.

Sometimes his visions happened in nice, controlled ways, like through cups of coffee and puddles. Then there were the times when they rose up and swallowed him whole, tearing away his feeble grip on reality to make themselves known. Pushing the button triggered one of the big, all-consuming ones.

He jerked his hand back from the panel as it pulled away with the rest of the walls to become a cavernous chamber of dark marble. The white veins in the rock throbbed and pulsed, leading like some twisted nervous system to the raised platform that stood in the center of the room. It was bathed in a shaft of bright light, which made it impossible to see the face of the woman in dark robes that stood in its center.

There was a man kneeling before the dark goddess, his face nearly pressed to the pulsing marble as he offered up a gilded chalice to her.

She accepted it graciously, but a second after she touched it to her lips she cried, "Idiot! It's cold!" and flung the offering away.

Her worshipper cringed away, but Grey knew he would not escape his goddess' wrath.

_Ding._

Everything lurched to a halt, the vision included. Grey swayed unsteadily as reality reasserted it and the elevator became an elevator again. The doors in front of him slid open. Grey stepped out, trying to ignore the pitying look his reflection gave him. "Taking in someone else's delusions," his mirror-self chided. "That's not good, man."

"Shut up," Grey said.

His reflection pointed at the corner of its lip. "You've got something on your face."

Grey looked. It was right.

"Thanks." He brushed it away, and his reflection mirrored him.

He moved closer to the door, the only one in the cramped hallway off the elevator. He could hear muffled voices inside. Therese was yelling for her ghoul to clean up the mess he made. The ghoul was apologizing over and over again. He called her goddess, which made Grey smile.

He leaned over to steal once last look at the mirror to make sure his reflection was behaving. His eyes seemed a little sunken, which he didn't remember from the last time he looked. He told himself it was more mind games, but made a note to get sunglasses to hide it just in case. He stepped up and knocked tentatively on the door.

He heard three quick steps move closer, and the door opened a fraction. Therese's face, still twisted in anger, glared out at him. "What? I _thought_ I said no visitors…"

"Do not blame the harried, hairless sentry," Grey said. "I have words that will please your ears."

"I'm in the middle of something."

"I am blind to what goes on here," Grey said earnestly. The single eye he saw in the door narrowed, and the door pulled back.

"For your sake I hope so," Therese said as she admitted him inside. Grey dutifully kept his eyes off the ghoul that was crouched nearby. By the scraping sound and the sweet smell Grey knew he was trying to scrub his ill-received offering of blood from the wall.

Therese moved back to stand by her desk and smoothed her skirt, which as far as Grey could tell was as immaculately in place as the rest of her suit. She folded her arms over her chest and looked at him, and suddenly Grey was the one with offerings to present to the goddess. He wondered what she'd do if she didn't care for what he had to say.

"Well?" Therese said. Her voice, like her gaze, like the rest of her, was frigid.

Grey opened his mouth, which was all the clearance the words trapped inside needed.

"There is pain," he said. "So much that it cannot be contained by the room it is held within. It has leaked outside, through closed windows and doors, to puddle on the street with the rain. The coffee was the first hint- and it often lies. Water doesn't lie. It knows that there's a rat that has bred without permission, a rat that makes its nest near here and nurses its whelp as it shrieks and writhes…"

Talking about it brought him closer to what he was speaking of. He could vaguely see the room. Dingy, ill-lit, filled with the refuse of the mortals that had overused it before. The smell of old debauchery and socks chased Grey back to the office over the club. He couldn't get a good look at what was handcuffed to the bed. He didn't want to.

Back in the office, Therese had moved within a foot of him. Her hands were on Grey's shoulders before he could stop her. Her eyes gleamed, and Grey looked away in a force of habit he couldn't remember picking up. The ghoul had stopped scrubbing and was staring.

"You're certain of this?" Therese said. "Some Nosferatu here in Santa Monica has embraced without permission?"

She dug her nails into Grey's shoulders as she spoke, making him wished he was in the habit of wearing a shirt.

"Not the rat you're hoping for," Grey said softly.

"Damn it!" She let go of him, and Grey took the opportunity to back against the door. "But you're absolutely sure…?"

"Water never lies, even with all the pollutants."

"I don't suppose you know where, then."

Grey nodded, steeling himself for the tricky part. "I only ask you weigh my words and pay for them accordingly… With a favor to be named later."

Therese's lip curled into a snarl, showing fangs that weren't extended a moment before. The gleam in her eyes shifted to something more dangerous, and Grey found his hand sliding towards the door knob. The voices, teasing him, said he'd never make in time. While they were describing what would happen Therese mastered herself, proving all of them wrong at least for the time being. She rubbed one temple as though she suddenly had a headache.

"Fine. But remember it's not a very significant boon, understand? I would have found this out sooner or later. Nothing goes on in Santa Monica that I don't hear about."

Grey bit back the first few retorts that wanted to crawl past his lips. "But maybe, in this case, not timely enough."

Therese's look spurred him to wrap things up with another flood. "The nest looks upon this very building with blinded eyes. That is all you need to know to find it. And, speaking of time, yours is precious, and I'm happy with what I've stolen. Thank you, good night." He opened the door enough to squeeze around it, catching the ghoul glaring at him through a fringe of lank brown hair just before he slid back into the hallway. He didn't know what Therese saw in him, at least until he remembered the blood.

On the ride back to the first floor the elevator remained an elevator. The pounding music obliterated anything that might be heard from upstairs. He tipped the bartender a salute as he walked back outside. His message delivered, Grey felt a little lighter.

It never lasted.


	3. Disorientation

**Chapter 3: Disorientation**

Dave was trapped in a nightmare.

In his nightmare he was shackled to a bed, his hands and feed handcuffed to rusty iron posts. He was in terrible pain, but as much as he bucked and writhed in agony he couldn't break free. The cuffs tore into his wrists and ankles, making them raw and bloody. The smell of his own blood agitated him, made what little sense he had left flee into a red haze. The bloodlust and pain took turns having their way with him, both trying to pound his sanity into a drooling pulp

There was a watch on the nightstand that was propped facing the bed, but every time Dave's writhing put him in a position to see it the hands were in vastly different positions. He was either losing a lot of time or jumping back and forth through it. The hunger and pain saw to it that the position of the hands lost all meaning, too. Dave had never tried to date two women at the same time before, but he had a feeling what he was experience was a lot like being caught in a tug of war for attention between two dangerously psychotic girls. Just for that the pain and hunger redoubled their efforts, grew to the point where Dave could think of nothing of themselves. Witty analogies were lost to him as well. When he was aware of anything else at all, it was the other presence in the room, the woman with different faces. When she was there was always silent, always watching him grunt and thrashed like a chained and dying animal.

Things inside him were moving, changing position, changing shape entirely, but Dave was beyond caring. There was something above him, or maybe it was below him, that writhed and moaned as he did, but he paid no attention to it. There was still the occasional brief flash of clarity, when the pain and hunger took time off to sharpen their knives. In moments like those all Dave could think of was how badly he wanted to die.

Then the pain and hunger started in on him again, and there was nothing else he could think of.

Dave woke, not for the first time, with the taste of dirty socks in his mouth. It took him a few seconds to realize it wasn't because he had a nasty hangover. There _had_ been a dirty sock in his mouth, but now it was gone. Not only was it gone, but Dave was terribly, painfully sober. As if in answer to all his fledgling alcoholic prayers, a plastic cup was pressed to his lips. His head was titled back, and what poured down his was not beer, but something cold and viscous. Blood, he realized with a twinge of horror, he was drinking blood. Worse than that, he liked it, knew that was what he had been craving the entire time he'd been handcuffed to the bed

His hands, no longer bound, went to the cup like a man dying of thirst, which was more or less the case. He drank until there was nothing left, then licked the inside of the cup for any traces of blood that might be left behind. Revulsion caught up with him only after there was nothing more to swallow. He threw the cup away, not caring where it landed. The room, he saw, was still a mess, one more piece of garbage wasn't going to make a difference. The hunger was still there, too, but the contents of the cup dulled it, pushed it down to more manageable levels.

He lay back on the bed, pressing the palms of his hands to his eyes. He felt like shit. He knew, on some distant level, that he'd been cuffed to the bed for a long time, maybe even several days. In all that time everything had blurred together, he must have been too delirious to even notice when he had passed in and out of consciousness. That still couldn't explain why his entire body hurt like it did.

Dave took a mental inventory of all that was wrong with him. His teeth throbbed, his skin crawled, and now and again he could actually feel parts of his innards twitch. Now that was just wrong. The ache in his arms and legs he could almost understand, he'd been stuck spread eagled for a long time, which could explain why it felt like the muscles in his limbs felt like jelly. His arms were trembling with the effort required to keep his hands to his eyes, so he took them away. He immediately wished he hadn't.

A monster was staring down at him, its misshapen head like a skull with a thin layer of sickly yellow skin stretched over it. Its eyes were sunken and tinged that same jaundice color. Jagged teeth jutted out past its lips, meeting together like a plaque-ridden bear trap that made it impossible for its mouth to completely close. Past its neck was a body that was bare to the waist, muscular but with the same thin skin problem. Every bit of sinew stood out in relief against its skin, and large boils dotted its arms and chest. Dave's mouth sagged open in horror as he took all of that in. The creature mirrored him, its teeth slipping apart to reveal a necrotic looking purple tongue.

He knew the monster in the mirror was him, he just didn't want to accept it. How could that even be possible? The answer came to him in bits and pieces, linking together to drag him towards what he'd suspected since he'd guzzled all that blood. He remembered the woman transforming into the monster, remembered her biting his throat and somehow dragging him back from the brink of death. In all the time he'd been handcuffed to the bed he had been going through his own transformation.

He now looked a lot like the thing sitting in the chair across the room, only without the saggy tits barely contained by a black bra. Small blessings. He stared at her and she smiled in response, forcing the wrinkles lining her face to shift and bunch together in unsettling ways. Dave winced, and before he could stop himself he was wondering how that must look. All he had to do was look up and he could see, instead he kept his eyes on the woman responsible for what he'd become. He had a lot of questions, but he also had a lot of colorful words. He couldn't decide where to begin.

Dave sat up slowly, using his legs to push himself against the headboard. He was deliriously grateful to still have his shoes and jeans on. He didn't want to know what was going on down below his waist. He pulled one arm back, and when he caught sight of his hand he gasped. He held it up before his face and stared.

What he saw was almost as bad as what had happened to his face. His fingers were skeletally thin and almost twice as long as they had been. Each digit ended in brittle yellow nails that looked like they'd had years to grow out, more like claws than nails. He flexed his fingers, curled them together into a fist, careful to put his thumb on the inside. His nails extended past his wrist, and somehow that did it.

His chest hitched, he sucked in a breath and exhaled it quickly, drew another to work up towards a good scream, or maybe a sob. It was, he realized with a stab of horror, the first time he'd taken a breath since he woke up. That _really_ wasn't right, but when lumped with everything else he couldn't be surprised.

He was about to test how his vocal chords had changed when the woman across the room spoke up.

"Don't scream," she said.

Dave wasn't prepared to listen, but before he could get it out the door burst open. He saw a blur of movement, and the creature- the woman- rocked backwards in her chair as a shaft of wood embedded itself in her chest. It happened in an instant, a wet crunching noise accompanying the impact. She slumped to one side, a surprised look frozen on her face.

There was movement from the corner of Dave's eye. He looked over in time to see a man advancing, a man with skin so pale it was tinged blue. If not for his skin tone he would have looked like a thousand other wannabes in LA with his facial piercings and Caesar haircut. The unwholesome cast to his features set him a little further apart from the crowd of manuscript pushers, as did the sharpened piece of wood he had in his hand.

Before Dave could raise an arm to defend himself the pale man struck. Dave heard bones crack from the force of the stake's entry, felt it go through heart and out his back. Something cold dribbled down his bare back. Pain raced outwards from around the stake, filling every vein, shocking him into stillness. So that was it, as soon as he made the vampire connection he got a stake through the heart as a prize.

He waited to die, but his eyes remained open. He waited for everything to go black like when he'd been bitten, but his vision stayed clear. He remained spitefully aware of everything happening around him, so long as it made noise or was right before his eyes. What he saw was the pale man twisting the stake to make sure it was firmly through him. What he heard was footsteps from the door as a third person, or maybe a small elephant judging by the heavy footfalls, walked away.

Dave tried to move his arms, his legs, even one of his grotesque fingers, but nothing responded. He wasn't dying, he was only paralyzed, and he felt slightly guilty for feeling disappointed about that.

The pale man stood back to survey his handiwork, letting Dave slump back against the bed. Dave caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror again. His face was twisted with a mix of shock and dismay, and just as when the woman smiled the expression was etched in bold lines like kind of nightmarish mask of tragedy.

The pale man leaned forward, revulsion all over his handsome serial killer's face. He slid one arm around Dave's waist, the other under his arms. Dave could do nothing get a final view of the clothes and condoms strewn about the room as he was lifted up. Dave felt like he was being held against the chest of a marble statue. The pale man did not breath, at least not until he drew a breath to whine.

"Oh, hell," the pale man groaned as he stood up. "I think I felt something pop."

He held Dave away from his chest long enough to survey the damage, leaving Dave staring at the other intruder in the room- an ashy looking black man who was dressed like the template from which all bad Gangsta stereotypes were cut. The gangsta had the woman slung over his shoulder in a fireman's carry. Dave wished he could look away at the sight of the woman's ass. The woman looked like a corpse left out in the sun to ripen for a few days, and yet she was wearing low rise jeans and a thong. The effect was a thousand times worse than glimpsing it on a normal fat chick.

"Damn it," the pale man exclaimed. "This is a new shirt!"

The pale man turned to face his companion, and Dave was eternally grateful for a view of the door.

"Quiet, Donnie," the gangsta said.

"Donovan," the pale man said automatically.

The gangsta clicked his tongue in annoyance. "Man, whatever. The van's waitin', you kin complain when we're outta this goddamned rat's nest."

The man calling himself Donovan sniffed and moved towards the door, trying with some difficulty to keep Dave away from his chest as he did.

"You gonna carry him down like _that_?" Gangsta asked, sounding close to laughter. "Like he's your bride?"

Dave felt the muscles in Donovan's shoulders bunch, heard something like a low growl very close to his ear. As Donovan's fingers dug in to his side he couldn't so much as wince in pain. For a moment he thought Donovan was going to drop him and go for his pal, but just as he was mentally bracing for impact with the floor all the tension drained from Donovan's shoulders.

"The van is waiting, _Jamal_," Donovan said. He carried Dave over the threshold and out into the hall. Dave could hear Jamal snickering as he followed.

There was little to see on the way out of the building. Judging by the state of the wallpaper in the hall it was either a condemned apartment building or a fairly average low rate motel. He hadn't noticed that before, but he'd been to drunk take much notice of anything until his one night stand turned into a monster.

Floorboards creaked loudly as the two men walked, and the noise only got worse as they reached the stairs. Dave kept trying to do more than stare straight ahead as they descended, but the most he could manage was a twitch of his eye. At the bottom of the stairs there was a metal door, Donovan kicked it open without hesitation and continued outside.

They emerged in an alleyway, where Dave was in position to see a white van idling. There was barely enough room in the alley for the van, and its back doors were open to welcome the lot of them to the empty cargo space within. The two men stepped through several puddles to reach it, leftovers from a storm that must have passed sometime during his extended stay in the room upstairs. Donovan roughly threw Dave into the back of the van, and there was nothing he could do to break his fall. He landed on his head, but was mildly surprised to find it didn't hurt as much as he was used to, and he was no stranger to taking blows there. That still couldn't help the fact he was stuck with his face mashed against the floor, staring at the side of the van as his teeth were pressed closer together than they could comfortably allow.

He heard a grunt from Jamal, and something heavy landed across Dave's legs, his guess was the body of the woman. The van rocked slightly as the two men climbed in after them.

"Alright, go," Jamal called to the driver.

There was no response from up front. All Dave heard was the doors slamming as the van was put in motion. It eased out of the alley and picked up speed as it joined normal traffic. Dave tried to keep track of the turns they made, but the movies never mentioned how boring that was. Dave gave up after five, and the silence in the back of the van continued for a few more until Donovan spoke up.

"Look at this," Donovan said. "This is a silk shirt, and there's… there's _pus_ all over it. This will never come out."

"Aw, hell, that again?" Jamal snapped. "Christ, for a Warlock you're awful fuckin' prissy, you know that? If you're so damn torn up about it why don'tcha ask LaCroix to replace it?"

Donovan said nothing.

"S'what I thought," Jamal said. "And I dunno about you, but once this is over I'm clear, that bastard won't have nothin' on me."

"You shouldn't speak of the Prince that way."

Jamal snorted. "I call a duck a duck and a fag a fag."

"Not to his face, I'll bet. As for _me_… I'm still a Tremere, regardless of what else I might be. Remember that."

Some juvenile and slightly hysterical part of Dave's mind giggled over the idea of gay vampires.

"Like I'm scared of your voodoo bullshit," Jamal muttered, he sounded less sure of himself.

A tense silence settled within the van, leaving Dave with nothing to listen to but the roar of the pavement unfolded beneath the van's wheels. He was seriously contemplating trying to see if he could remove the stake with his mind- he ought to have _some_ kind of freaky vampire powers, anyway- when the silence was finally broken.

"What d'ya think made her do it?" Jamal asked.

"Josie?" Donovan said. "Why don't you pull the stake out and ask her? I doubt there's any reasonable explanation. What makes anyone think they can get away with breaking the Traditions is the real question."

"I guess…" Jamal was silent for a moment, but just as he was about to say something more Donovan cut him off.

"Are we going to talk around these two the entire way?" he sounded tired.

"Shit, man, not like it matters," Jamal said. "They gonna die tonight, anyway."

"Even so."

Jamal clicked his tongue. "Fine, be that way."

There was silence for the rest of the ride, throughout which cold terror gnawed at Dave's twitching insides. He was still trying to think of a way out, still desperate trying to get his body to respond to him, when the van came to a halt and the doors were opened. Light flooded the cargo area of the van, moments later a shadow stretched across it and over Dave and Josie's helpless bodies.

"Excellent," a new voice said. "Bring them to the stage."

It was definitely a man's voice, with a fussy sort of accent that Dave couldn't place. English maybe, or French. His mind was desperate to latch on to any triviality. He heard strangely familiar heavy footfalls again, and the gravity of the situation hit Dave with the force of several G's.

As Dave was dragged out of the van and into the light he could only pray that he was dreaming.


	4. One Night Only

**Chapter 4: One Night Only**

Grey found himself sitting in a beach chair. It was appropriate enough, seeing as he was sitting on a beach in the middle of the night. It was very dark out. The only source of light was in the sky, a single bright red star. There was not even a pale shadow present where the moon should be, there was only the star. As Grey watched, the light grew. It was coming closer, very fast, incredibly fast.

He dug his fingers into the wooden armrests of the chair and tipped his gaze back down to earth. The tide was rising. Icy water was pooled around his feet, so cold Grey could feel it biting into his dead flesh. He couldn't remember the last time he actually felt cold.

Grey sat back, and the creaking of his chair was thunderously loud in the silence. The beach, he realized, was utterly still. There was no dull roar of waves in the distance, no angry hiss of surf forced to withdraw from the sand. The voices were silent as well, which meant only one thing.

"This isn't real," Grey said.

"Very astute," a man's voice said.

It came from above and behind him. The speaker was standing just behind his chair. Grey knew that voice, he'd heard it the night of his embrace. He didn't look up. He heard the rustling of fabric as the speaker knelt down. When his Sire spoke again, his voice was right beside Grey's ear.

"Look, Grey."

Grey drew in shaky breath, he wanted to say no, but it would not change anything. He could only watch whatever he was shown, unable to look away until whatever sent his visions decided he had seen enough. The star was growing nearer, casting everything in red. Grey pressed himself against the flimsy canvas seat. It wasn't fair. He never asked for this. He didn't _want_ to know.

"Look," his Sire said, more insistently.

"There's nothing to see," Grey said.

The water was rising, the cold has spread halfway up his legs, but something was wrong. He felt cold, but not wet. Grey looked past his lap. What was pooled around his legs and rising to engulf the chair was dark as pitch. As Grey watched, then tendrils of shadow rose to quest blindly up his legs and to his chest. The cold spread, the darkness grew bolder. It touched his face. Grey turned his head away and closed his eyes, but not before he saw that it was all around him. He wasn't sitting on the edge of the ocean at all. The light was growing brighter still, he could tell even with his eyes closed.

"Look!"

A hand fell upon Grey's shoulder, he whipped around.

Damsel recoiled in surprise. "Jesus!"

The beach on the Abyss' edge evaporated. Grey was sitting in a plush theatre seat, not a wooden beach chair. He no longer felt cold, only frightened, and the only shadows were the ones found naturally in the dimmed house. The voices were back too, they rose as one in a chorus, welcoming back into a din of many conflicting statements, laughter, sighs. They faded back to their normal buzzing, never completely gone as long as he was in the real world.

The Nocturne Theatre, that's where he was. He remembered now. Court had been called abruptly, and all Kindred of the city were respectfully requested to attend. Respectfully or else, though the call had no included those words. Such was the supreme arrogance of the Camarilla. Grey had arrived with the other Anarchs. They were sitting around him now, all staring at him with concern.

The familiar faces helped to firmly plant him back in reality. Damsel was right behind him and half out of her seat, still tensed as though she expected him to snap at any moment. She moved back to sit in front of Nines as soon as it was clear Grey wouldn't. Skelter and Nines. Skelter, Grey knew, at least understood a fraction of what he suffered. Nines he wasn't so sure about, but had seen the candor of his soul many times before. Grey loved that little talent, or he did when he remembered to use it.

Grey took is sunglasses off and his surroundings lost the yellow tinge from the lenses. A quick glimpse saw Skelter's bitter aura made it appear as though the color of his dark skin had bled out in a pale halo around him. Nines' was more complex, the compassion and grim determination ever present, but now steaked to show his concern and dark blue. Grey didn't know what dark blue meant.

"You okay?" Nines said.

Grey nodded.

"Looked like you zoned out again," Skelter said.

"It _looked_ like you were gonna tear my fucking head off," Damsel corrected him.

"Keep your voice down," Nines said.

Grey looked away from them to the rest of theatre. There were at least a dozen other Kindred scattered throughout the seats, and the more than a few of their heads turned away a little too slowly as he looked to them.

Grey looked to his lap again, sparking an unpleasant memory of the vision.

"My mind wandered," he said, his voice trembling. "But it's safely hobbled now."

"Good," Damsel said. "Cause it looks like the show's about to start."

The house lights dimmed further. Scattered murmurs of conversation died away, a few people hurriedly changed seats, and those that were still eyeing Grey in hopes of a better spectacle turned their attention to the stage. Grey dug his fingers into his pant legs as he looked ahead, deciding the best way to spite those that stared was to maintain his composure.

Two Kindred stepped out on to the stage, both carrying bodies. They placed their burdens in the stage's center- two more Kindred, both Nosferatu, both staked. The crowd stirred, the theatre suddenly hissing with whispered conversations and murmurs of surprise. Grey put a hand to his temple, the voices were urging him, very loudly, to look around.

"What the hell is this?" Skelter said.

With some hesitation Grey focused, pitching his vision far beyond the human norm. The shadows in the far corners of the auditorium lost all their secrets, but all he discovered of note were cracks forming in the walls and Jack leaning against one of the pillars. Grey looked back to the stage, his vision still heightened. He was fairly certain that the sewer rats in the spotlight were the only ones in the building, unless perhaps the others were somewhere in the rafters. It was strange, either way, to not see at least one of the city's Nosferatu out in the open just for show. Grey bit his lip, but said nothing. The din in his head died down shortly after the crowd fell silent.

A massive figure moved on to the stage, but it was only Grey's imagination or hallucination that the room shook with every step. The trench coat the Sheriff was wearing was a complimented the ashen gray of his skin. The coat looked suspiciously like it was fashioned from the skin of an elephant, while the Sheriff looked much like a nightmarish, eight foot tall African albino, red eyes and all. The sword on the Sheriff's back was even more impressive, easily the length and breadth of a person. Grey had never seen it off his back, and he was glad for that. The light gleaming off the blade was bright enough to hurt his eyes, so Grey looked away, letting his gaze inadvertently slide to the staked Nosferatu. The royal whipping boys that had brought them in were tying their hands behind them.

He recognized the first Nosferatu as a woman- or woman shaped thing, at least- named Josie. He knew little more about her than her name and her sad penchant for revealing clothing. Grey had never noticed the rose tattoo on Josie's left breast before, but his heightened senses and wandering eye showed him far more than he wanted, like the horribly cracked skin just around her bra. He broke spell of horrified fascination and forced himself to look elsewhere. The second Nosferatu was a man, one that had inherited Josie's teeth and pointed ears, among other problems. Like Josie, the unknown had no shirt on, showing off an impressive physique marred by numerous boils.

From the corner of his eye, Grey could see LaCroix- the pretender, the jester, the self-appointed Prince- move on to the stage. He was distantly aware of him speaking, but by then his attention was fixed on the scars on the male Nosferatu's chest.

There were three small raised lines high on the Nosferatu's chest, their placement very familiar to Grey. He remembered, years ago, back when he still breathed, and that a friend of his had been stabbed in those same places.

LaCroix's unwelcome voice filtered in through the memory trying to unfold, the present stubbornly trying to keep hold of him.

"It's unfortunate," LaCroix said. "That the affair that the affair that gathers us together this night is a troubling one."

The stakes were removed from both Nosferatu, and soon the hapless male childe was able he was staring back at Grey. Grey blinked, forced his vision back to normal, and the scene unfolding on the stage lost its preternatural clarity. He looked away from the stage and to his lap. What he seen was a coincidence. The look on the Nosferatu's face… Well, their expressions were hard to accurately read.

While LaCroix rambled on about the permission to sire, Grey's attention drifted away back to that memory of Dave. He hadn't thought about it- or any of his life- in years. He and Dave Kim had shared an apartment together for years, and so Grey had been there the day staggered home covered in blood. He'd been stabbed three times, courtesy of the boyfriend the girl he'd been dating had neglected to tell him about. The boyfriend went after Dave as soon as he was out of prison, and once reports were filed and Dave was taken care of he went right back.

The scars from the stabbing never went away, and Grey had seen them every time Dave insisted he 'check out his pecs' along with the veins that stood out in his arms. As many times as he had seen them, as many times as he had rolled his eyes when Dave said he could have the same if he could just leave the computer for two minutes, Grey _had_ to remember.

"Look what you've done," another familiar voice said. It came from right beside him, close enough to knock him back to the present, if not reality.

Grey looked over. He was growing tired of people appearing out of nowhere, but who he saw in the next seat surprised him.

He was sitting beside himself, which was the only way to describe it.

"You're supposed to stay in the mirror," Grey said, trying to keep his voice low to avoid attention.

The other Grey shook his head, as if he just didn't get it. His other self looked almost exactly like him, only- and Grey his hand up to compare- not quite so pale. His eyes were different too, but in a way Grey couldn't quite place. He understood then. He was looking at the old Paul Grey, the one who had to answer to the first name on occasion. Paul had been lost the night he was embraced, at least up until now.

"You're missing the show," Paul said. He turned back to the stage.

Grey followed his gaze and saw that, in all his preoccupation, he had missed most of the Prince's little speech. It was time now for the sentence, he could tell by the tense current running through the room. Grey had known long before what was coming. He'd known it when he'd seen the sad little nest through the water, and he'd known it when he'd told Therese. He hadn't considered he would be present for the consequences.

The Sheriff took the sword from his back and slowly moved towards Josie. She began to struggle, but the goon in street thug regalia nudged her with his boot to force her down. The Sheriff raised the massive sword easily with both hands. Grey turned his head to avoid watching Josie lose hers, only to be faced with sight of who he used to be again. Paul was sitting on his other side now, and when their eyes met he smirked.

"You've traded two lives in exchange for one little favor," Paul said. "Nice one."

Grey looked away from Paul and back to the stage. Josie's decapitated body was rapidly crumbling to ash. Her childe was staring at the mess in horror, the fashion victim goon behind him still holding him upright by the neck. LaCroix was slowly moving towards the doomed little rat, talking all the while.

"Without a sire," LaCroix said. "Most childer are doomed to walk the earth never knowing their place, their responsibility, and most importantly, the laws they must obey."

"Forget that," Paul said. "You know _him_."

"No…" Grey whispered, unable to look away from the stage now. "The odds are too-"

"_This is bullshit_!"

Nines was on his feet, his face twisted into a snarl of rage. Damsel and Skelter were up an instant later, both trying to restrain him. Paul had vanished, but Grey could hear his laughter receding in his head. While Damsel and Skelter held Nines back, other Kindred in the audience were getting to their feet. There was whispering, even shouting, and most of it was in agreement with Nines. Grey was too bemused to stand, he looked back to the stage and saw LaCroix ponder the situation.

"If Mr. Rodriquez would let me finish," LaCroix said. He began to slowly pace the stage again. "I have decided to let this Kindred live."

Grey could see many interesting things in LaCroix's aura. He'd never seen such a shade of anger before.

"We're leaving," Nines growled. When Grey looked up he was already moving down the row. Skelter and Damsel followed close behind him, but it was Damsel who paused and looked back to him.

"You coming or what?" she asked.

Grey glanced back to the stage one final time, accidentally catching the Nosferatu's eyes. As LaCroix brought the meeting to a close Grey stood and hurried to catch up to the others. He told himself with every step that the doomed creature on stage could not possibly be Dave.


	5. Lucky You

**Chapter 5: Lucky You**

The wound left from the stake had mostly healed by the time Dave was hauled to his feet. All he had done was think of how badly he wanted the oozing hole gone and it had slowly closed, but once it had he was left feeling on edge again, just like when he had when he'd woke up that night. The hunger was back, gnawing at his insides and making it hard to think straight. His heart wasn't beating, but that couldn't really surprise him anymore. His head felt like it was packed in cotton.

The long-winded guy in the suit, the one that had given that nice speech before the execution, was walking off stage. The show was over, and the people in the audience were filing out through the aisles. Dave tried to search for any sign of the man who looked like Grey, but he was roughly shoved forward to follow the man. Dave staggered forward a few feet before he caught himself. He looked back to see that Donovan and Jamal were gone, leaving only him and the grey Hulk of an executioner. He couldn't argue with a face like that, especially when he had to crane his head up to look at it. He felt the executioner's eyes on his back the entire way across the stage.

The suit was talking as soon as he caught up.

"Your sire, tragic, my apologies," the suit said. "But you see, there is a strict code of conduct that all of us must… _adhere_ to if we wish to survive."

The suit turned and started walking. Dave followed him, but as he walked all he could think of was how much he really wanted to hit the guy. Some unfamiliar part of him was excited by the idea, but he shoved his hands into his pockets instead. His left hand brushed something, and as he closed his fingers around it he was surprised to find it was his camera. After all that had happened it was still with him, a lot of help that was.

The man in the suit was still talking. "When someone, _anyone_, breaks these laws, they undermine the well-worn fabric of our centuries old society. Understand my… _predicament_."

All he had to do was jump the guy from behind, it would be so simple. The suit's back was to him, and as he walk he never even glanced back one to see if he was following. Dave could just move up, pull his head back, and sink his teeth into the suit's pale throat. And then... Then…

He couldn't finish the though, he didn't want to. Dave shook his head like that could get the mental picture out. He couldn't do that. The big gray ape with the sword had to be around somewhere, and the suit had to be important if he could hold a public execution. Besides, he really wasn't the type to attack anybody unprovoked, and least not before. The fact he'd even thought about that was troubling. It had to be the hunger, but what had put that idea in his head had felt like something else. He didn't know what it was, and it scared him.

He had almost completely pushed down the urge to do something bad by the time they rounded the corner of the dingy backstage area. It turned out he'd only been fighting with himself for a few paces.

And the suit was _still_ going on.

"Allowing you to live makes me directly responsible for your subsequent behavior," the suit said, his tone grave. "So! What I'm offering is _not_ generosity, but the opportunity to transcend the fate woven by your sire."

The way the guy spoke, the way he carefully measured every word so they fell on Dave like anvils, was not helping his self-control at all. Something crass was right on the tip of Dave's tongue, but he bit it back. His fingers twitched with the urge to do something with those new claws of his, but he stubbornly folded his arms over his chest. He couldn't do anything stupid, especially when someone was probably sweeping up the ashes of the woman- Josie, his _sire_, what a thought- at that very moment.

They reached the theatre's back door, and the suit finally turned to face him.

"_This_ is your trial," the suit said. Dave thought he heard a trace of amusement in his voice, which worried him a lot. The suit steepled his fingers. "You will be brought to Santa Monica. There you will meet an agent by the name of Mercurio, he will provide the details of your labor."

The suit opened the metal door and stepped back, holding it like an usher. He looked expectantly at Dave. Amber light and city noise poured in from the outside, a little disappointing for how normal it was. Dave looked away from the door and stared at the suit blankly. He couldn't decided whether to argue, curse the man, or give in to that dark part of him that wanted to tear out the man's throat so badly. Fighting between all the impulses made him stand there like an idiot.

"I've shown you _great_ clemency," the suit said. There was a new edge to the words that made anything but compliance seem risky. "Prove it was more than a wasted gesture, fledgling. Don't come back until you do."

Dave stepped outside and the suit stepped back from the door, it was half-way closed by the time he said, "Good evening."

The door slid shut with the finality of heavy metal doors everywhere. Dave turned back to stare at the chipped paint and the faded letters that read 'stage access'. A lot of emotions fought for dominance in his mind, fear and confusion the top contenders. The hunger was still lurking somewhere under it all. Something in his guts twitched again, which was enough to shake what little willpower he had left. He wanted curl up by the door and cry, or pummel the walls around him until his fists were a broken mess, but instead he stepped down the stairs and put the theatre behind him.

He'd barely set foot into the alley past the door when he heard laughter. Dave turned and saw a pallid man standing next to the brick wall, laughing at him. The man had long black hair and a graying beard that was long enough to almost touch his chest. He was dressed in denim from head to toe, making him look like an unwashed, aging biker that hadn't seen the sun in a long, long time. The vest he was wearing showed off a lot of body hair and muscle, making Dave hesitant to act on the initial violent impulse that hit him.

"What a scene, man! Hoo-wee!" the biker exclaimed, still laughing. "Then they just plop you out here like a naked baby in the woods. Heh-heh, how 'bout that?"

Dave stared at him blankly. His hands inadvertently curled into fists, making his nails dig into his palm. The stab of pain helped him keep a hold of himself.

"Listen kiddo," the biker said. If he noticed the state Dave was in he ignored it. "This is probably a lot for you to take in, so uh, why don't you let me show you the ropes? Whattaya say?

Dave frowned. "Who _are_ you?"

It was just as he feared. His voice sounded like someone had taken a cheese grater to his vocal chords sometime during the week he'd been trapped in that room. The biker didn't seem to care, but then again didn't looked fazed about Dave's appearance either, so why would his voice matter?

"I'm Jack. What's important is I'm offering help. You make it back from Santa Monica with your hide and we'll trade life stories, okay? 'Til then," he held his thumb and forefinger close together. "I got about this much time. You in or out?"

"I guess so."

"Alright! Now we ain't got much time, but I figure somebody should fill you in on the bare bones stuff at least, y'know? Could save your life."

Dave wasn't so sure he could keep a handle on himself that long, but he said nothing and settled for nodding in reply.

"You look a little on-edge, kid. Betcha barely had it in you to fill that hole in your chest, huh? You even had a drink yet?"

Dave thought back to the room and what he'd been given- not much at all, now that he was already hungry again. "Uh… just a cup," he said.

"A _cup_?" Jack laughed. "Aw, man, you ain't had nothin' yet. Just wait 'til you've drunk straight from the tap." He tapped the side of his neck with two fingers to illustrate.

"What?" Dave said.

"You know we're talkin' about blood here, right?" Jack said. "Bagged and bottled shit might get you by, yeah, but getting' it straight from the vein's where the real rush is. Get this, blood's your new rack of lamb, your new champagne, it's like your new fuckin' heroin, kid."

"I'm almost thirty," Dave protested, his mind diving for the age thing instead of the prospect of blood drinking.

"Like anybody can tell now," Jack cackled. "Don't matter how old you were before, kid. Right now you're a fuckin' squallin' infant to every other vampire on the block, got that?"

Dave felt a spark of rage from the comment on his looks and age. He dug his nails into his palms again, on purpose that time, just to keep from acting. It was getting harder and harder not to.

"Got it," he said, the words came out like a growl.

"So, yeah, as I was sayin,'" Jack said. "I can tell you're gonna have to feed if any of this is gonna sink in." He pointed down the alleyway, Dave noticed the nails were so dirty they looked black "Down around the corner there I saw this human, Poor S.O.B can't find his car, heh-heh."

Dave looked at Jack blankly. He had a feeling he knew very well what was involved. Part of him did, and it had been urging him towards it since he was pushed off stage. The other part, the rational part, couldn't stand the thought. "So… I just…. I mean I have to…"

"It'll come to you real natural-like, don't worry," Jack said. "Just go down there, creep on him, and feed. Two things, though." He held up two fingers. "One, and this is important, don't drain him dry. It might be hard to resist, but don't kill 'im. And two, almost as important, don't let him see you. Three guesses why, kid, and the first two don't count."

"I get it…" Dave said, unable to keep the edge off his voice. He knew if he thought too much about how he looked now he would snap, so he pushed it from his mind and tried to steel himself for what he had to do. He was willing to go along with anything if it would make the hunger stop gnawing at him, he just wished he didn't feel so damn eager about it at the same time.

Dave turned and moved down the side of the building, feeling exposed all the while. When he peeked around the corner he saw what Jack was talking about, a lone man angrily pacing as he talked on a cell phone. Dave drew in a breath and sank into a crouch. The way his spine was twisted made it much easier than it had ever been in life, almost natural. He didn't remember to exhale until he'd slunk halfway down the alley towards the man. The nearest streetlight was out, leaving the area the man stomping around in darkness. Stupid. Dave moved closer, slowly, still keeping low to the ground. Being stealthy was nothing new, but he'd never had to do it for anything but a good photo op before. He was just a few feet from the man when he hung up the phone, and as the man stuffed it back in his pocket Dave saw his chance. He stood up and grabbed him from behind. The man uttered a shocked gasp as Dave wrapped his spidery fingers over his mouth, and once Dave had his teeth at this throat he didn't make any noise at all.

Jack was right. It all came very naturally, and the rush was like nothing he'd ever felt before. It made him remember to the night he'd died, the feeling he'd be swept under with, but he didn't think to connect that as the reason the man went limp once he starting drinking. Dave held him close, found himself close worrying the man's neck, as if that could improve the flow of blood. Why should he stop when he _needed_ all of it? What did it matter if one person died? The thoughts weren't entirely Dave's, and as he realized it he pulled himself away from the man's throat. His teeth had left a nasty imprint behind, and without thinking much about why he was doing it Dave leaned down and licked it. When he raised his head a second time the marks were quickly fading and the man was beginning to stir. Relief flooded Dave, almost washing away the incredible guilt. If he _had_ given in… He didn't want to think about it. He pushed the man back to his feet and was a little more relieved to see he was still conscious and able to keep his balance. While the man cursed and shook his head, Dave moved slowly backwards into the shadows, past a junked car left abandoned in the alley, and was pretty sure he was in the clear.

The man looked in his direction as soon as he had recovered. Dave froze. That _would_ be just his luck. He kept still, tried desperately to will himself out himself out of sight. Several seconds passed, the man staring into the shadows all the while, then he shook his head and turned away, digging the cell phone back out of his pocket.

"Fucking smog," he muttered as he dialed. "Screws with everything."

Dave quietly slipped away while his back was turn. When the fear of being spotted passed, he felt strange, almost elated. Jack was right, again.

Dave found him leaning against the door opposite the theatre. Jack was smoking a cigar stub and looking even more pallid under the light hanging over the door. As Dave walked up he pried himself away from the door and peered closely at him, making Dave feel intensely uncomfortable.

Jack smiled again, taking the cigar stub from his lips. "What you're feelin' right now? That blood bubblin' up inside you, liftin' you up? That's what it's all about, kid."

Dave said nothing, he still didn't know how to feel about it, besides guilty over the fact it felt really damn _good_.

"Alright!" Jack said, gesturing wildly. "You got the blood, you're feelin' kickass, feelin' better than your best day livin' but wait! It gets better! All Kindred- that's uh, _our_ word for vampire- all Kindred have a few things in common, things that set them right square above humans on the food chain."

"Like what?" Dave said.

"Like sharper senses, a body that can take a beating," Jack smacked his fist into the palm of his hand. "And, if you play your cards right, _eternal life_. That's no sure bet but still, a chance at immortality's not a bad deal. And that's just for starters. Call it fringe benefits for joinin' the club."

"I'm gonna live forever?" Dave didn't expect to sound dismayed when he said it, but that's how it came out.

"Well, you _can_ still be destroyed," Jack said. "But forget the books and the movies. Garlic? Worthless! A cross? Pfft! Shove it right up their ass!" He made another helpful gesture to illustrate. "A stake? Only if it catches you in the heart and then it just paralyzes ya… But you know all about that, dontcha? And runnin' water? That's no problem. I bathe… occasionally."

Jack held up his hands from front to back while Dave looked on, somehow simple gestures like that made everything more surreal. In another moment it was back to the instruction.

"Now, a shotgun blast to the head," Jack pointed to his temples. "That's trouble, boy. Fire? That's _real_ trouble. And _sunlight_? Well, you catch the sunrise and it's all over, kiddo. Terminal tan, get it?"

"Yeah," Dave said. He had the feeling that even well fed it was way too much to take in all at once.

"Okay now," Jack said. An explosion near the alley cut him off, and he surprised Dave by uttering a guttural hiss in its direction. "What the fuck is this?"

Dave was silent once more, taking in the sudden cacophony of gun shots and yells that had erupted all around them. That was something, even for LA. Jack stepped away from the door, still looking towards where the noise had started.

"You get inside here and head upstairs," Jack said, pushing the door open. "We'll meet up in a bit. I'm just gonna see what the ruckus is."

"But I-"

Jack waved him off with his free hand. "Go on. I'll meet you in there."

Dave reluctantly obeyed, and as the door slid closed behind all he could think of was how he was already fed-up with getting dragged around. There was a scream for somewhere outside and he quickly revised his opinion at least for the current situation. He didn't want to be there to what was going on first-hand. He opened the door and stepped inside, feeling a lot like a rat being pushed through a maze. Or a cow being herded to slaughter, he couldn't decide which.


	6. Breaking the Skin

**Chapter 6: Breaking the Skin**

They were two blocks from the theatre when Grey felt the twinge of something odd. This was no all-consuming vision, no sudden flash of certainty to anything, and so Grey remained silent. It couldn't be anything very concerning when what he all he received was a faint feeling that something was happening. The knowledge, vague as it was, tickled the fine hairs on his neck just to tease him before it faded. He told himself it was nothing and kept walking. Such were the frustrating methods of the Sight, mixing vague intuition with disturbing clarity as if were forever trying to keep him off balance. The truly maddening thing was it had been with him in life too, but never as powerful as it had become after he died. Paul, the coward, hadn't been able to handle the Sight amplified, so what right did he have to talk to him _now_? The memory of what he had said back in the theatre rose like bile in his throat.

Nines, Skelter, and Damsel walked ahead of him, oblivious to the ripple he'd felt. There was no need to trouble them, not when it was so hard to explain, and certainly not with Nines stalking along the very edge of self-control. He would demand they go back, or his Beast might take the opportunity to channel all his frustration into an attack upon Grey. If he went back Skelter and Damsel follow, if he frenzied Skelter and Damsel wouldn't be able to stop him. Grey liked his skin intact, one way or another. It held so many important things inside, after all.

Somewhere in the distance, back the way they had come, there was a scream. It was nothing more than another note in the discordant symphony of downtown LA, and yet it sent a chill merrily slaloming down his spine. Something was erupting, causing shock waves only he could feel from such a distance, but it was still nothing he wanted to get involved with. He had done enough damage passing along the details of his last vision along Therese. His old self had been right, it was a terrible thing to give away for a simple favor. Even so, Grey looked over his shoulder, back towards the theatre. In the same step he tripped over an uneven slab of sidewalk.

His hands went out to break his fall, the concrete extracting its tithing of flesh as soon as his palms scraped it. His sunglasses were knocked from his head, bouncing twice to come to rest several feet ahead of him. Grey made to crawl for them, but as soon as he put his raw palm down upon the ground again there was a sharp crack. A fissure appeared in the pavement, extending just past his fingers. There was another crack, louder this time, and it grew in jagged leaps to touch the edge of the sidewalk. Grey sat backwards, but it wouldn't stop just because he had taken his hands away. New cracks branched from the first like new branches sprouting from a tree, racing outwards to new pieces of sidewalk. The earth shifted beneath him, Grey dug his fingers into the pavement but could find no purchase. A large portion of the sidewalk ahead of him caved in, and from the gap bloody hands emerged, groping blindly. Grey, too horrified to look away, crab walked backwards. One of the hands brushed his sneaker.

"What the hell are you doing?"

Grey looked up. Damsel had come back to retrieve him, an annoyed sneer cutting unsightly lines in her porcelain doll's face. He looked down. The sidewalk was whole again and the grasping, bloody hands were gone. Everything was normal, whatever that meant, and half a dozen curious gazes were boring into him from all around the street.

"My presence was requested down below," Grey said sheepishly.

Damsel scoffed in disgust and thrust a pale hand out to him. Grey took it and she hauled him to his feet with no effort at all. The doll was made of tougher things than porcelain, after all. She was also Brujah, which had something to do for her strength, her temper, and the fact Grey wouldn't dare say that for fear of seeing how her dainty fists would feel when slammed into him. She put his sunglasses back on their roost atop his head, a strangely tender gesture that surprised even him. With all the Beast had so obviously taken out of the poor broken doll he didn't think she had it in her.

"Look, you think you can keep it together long enough to make it to the bar?" she asked.

"If everything _else_ will, maybe."

"Twice in one night already," Paul's voice sighed in Grey's ear. "This is getting sad, man, real sad."

He whipped his head to the left, but there was nothing there but a blank wall.

"Grey?" Damsel said. "Seriously."

He nodded gravely, not terribly surprised when Damsel took him by the arm and led him along with her like a wandering child

"Ah, those bastards," Damsel said. She picked up her pace, dragging Grey along with her until he altered his own to match. "I _told_ them to wait up."

Skelter and Nines were not in sight, having gone far enough ahead to round the corner. Grey didn't see what the problem was. Sooner or later they would all arrive at the same place, the paths all convening in the dim haven of The Last Round. Even Jack, who was always slipping away to stick his foot into the paths of others, would meet with them there at some point. He couldn't begin to tell that the Damsel, any more than he could keep her from pulling him into the next alley they came across. He tried, but her fingers dug painfully into his arm as she continued on heedlessly, dragging him along as though he wasn't nearly twice her diminutive size.

"Relax, it's just a shortcut," she said, grinning to herself. "We'll cut ahead of 'em this way."

Grey said nothing, it was enough to concentrate on keeping up with her as he was pulled along. The passage between buildings, a tiny vein stemming off the artery of the street, was barely wide enough to allow a car through, and only then with the sacrifice of its side mirrors. Years of cast off newspapers and flyers carpeted the ground, the faded stories and advertisements muffling their footsteps at least until they reached the odd patch of naked pavement. Grey craned his neck up, and the buildings rose like great beasts straining for the starless patch of night sky. The stars were there, somewhere beyond the haze of smog and light pollution, but Grey was glad to be unable see if one amongst them was bright and red. But that tiny patch was nothing, a mere peephole to a greater expanse. If the red star was there its malignant light could very well be enough to burn though LA's veil. Grey turned his sights back to earth.

The passed a rusting dumpster that oozed foul odors and liquids from its lip, and in its shadow a man swaddled in rags was crouched. A gaunt, bearded face rose as they passed by, but Grey found nothing in the dark eyes that briefly met his. Unable to muster even the strength to beg to spare a dollar, the pile of rags shifted and the bum's face was turned to the dumpster, where he pressed his forehead against the rusted metal. A hacking cough echoed through the alley as Grey and Damsel left the dying kine in their wake. Grey had thought Damsel had paid him no mind, but as they reached a nexus in the passage between buildings she muttered, "More and more like that lately. Turnin' into a fuckin' epidemic."

"More than you know," Grey whispered. Damsel either didn't hear him or ignored the comment. She turned right, pulling Grey with her. Grey, hearing the patter of footsteps, glanced over her shoulder to the left. The alley across the way was even more narrow than the one they'd come from, barely the width of any given doorway. Grey's initial glimpse was only enough to give him a fragmented picture of the figure- pale skin, blonde hair, black circles that hid sunken eyes. It was the hair, long and unkempt, that made him stop and look back. Damsel continued on heedless for three steps, nearly pulling Grey's arm from his socket, but curiosity and annoyance made her stop.

"What _now_?" she said.

Grey ignored her, same with the throbbing in his shoulder. He concentrated on the newcomer.

It wasn't who he had thought. Of course it wouldn't be, the voices sighed in their fragmented chorus, what he thought was ludicrous. Instead it was a strange man, one who looked a little older than he did. He had skidded to a halt in the alleyway from a dead run, but he was not winded. If that wasn't hint enough, there was the paleness of his skin to consider, the way his face looked drawn and vaguely bestial, but he had been wrong before. Grey blinked, and a halo of color around the man swam into view as if it had been just out of focus all along. It was a pale swirl of fear and something purple. Reading auras was still something new to him, but he knew very well what the veins of black marring the Kindred's pale aura meant, it was something anyone with vitae in their veins had to be wary of. A diablerist, an eater of Kindred souls. A favored pastime of the Sabbat, judging from the horror stories Jack told. As Grey watched, the black from those veins appeared to hemorrhage out into the rest of the aura, mixing nicely with the furious red the other colors had given way to. Grey blinked again, pulling his focus back to the figure they were wreathed around, and he saw that the other Kindred was staring at him just as intently. His eyes burned with a cold sort of madness Grey was blissfully unfamiliar with.

"He sees," Grey said, shocked. "The Sword does not sing, but it sees."

Their eyes met, the voices chided Grey for being so foolish, and the Kindred's lips drew back into a snarl. He hissed before he charged them. Grey turned, but Damsel was no longer standing beside him. In a blur of red hair and pale skin she had rushed to meet the other Kindred head on. Grey's hand went to his belt, but his knife wasn't there. The rules of Elysium, which the theatre had so conveniently served as for that night, forbade weapons of any kind, and so Grey was armed with nothing but ineffective fists. He leapt into the fray regardless, he had to. He'd never hear the end of it from anyone, real or imagined, if he stood by. Damsel had had the time to land a punch in the same instant she rushed the Kindred. The force of the blow staggered him, knocked him back to the mouth of the narrow alley he had been spat from. Grey allowed him no time to recover. He ducked in ahead of Damsel, his fists raised. If one were to punch the nose just right, he had heard somewhere, the cartilage could potentially be driven into the brain. So all he could do was slam his fist forward and hope for the best. A knife to the eye was so much easier, so much more certain.

The Kindred was not as stunned as Grey had assumed. Worse, when not against supernatural speed like Damsel's his reflexes were astounding. He caught Grey's arm before the punch could connect, and the only warning of what was to come was the sick grin that crossed the Kindred's face a split second before it happened. The Kindred lay his free hand on to Grey's suspended arm with surprising tenderness. The chalk white hand rested there for a moment, long enough for Grey to look up confusion. The Kindred gave him a sick grin, and then there was a wet sucking noise, like something was sinking into mud. Grey looked down. Those chalk white fingers had slid into his flesh as though it were wet clay. The shock of seeing that was chased away in another instant by blinding pain. His free hand went up, clawing at the Kindred's arm, but it did nothing to stop the pain.

A dragon's childe, the voices whispered, some giddy, some terrified, a Fiend. The words meant nothing to Grey. All he knew is that when the Kindred's fingers reached the bones of his arm they moved in response. The pain transformed into agony, and in that moment Fiend sounded the most appropriate word to use to describe the Kindred. White lights flared in Grey's vision, coalescing into a blur that helpfully spared him the sight of what was happening. The pain intensified to compensate. Grey screamed. The voices fell silent, and not even the Beast could be coaxed to rise to face such a thing. There was no room to enjoy that. Grey clawed at it with his other arm, but the pain was too great and his efforts were too feeble to be of any use. The Fiend drew his fingers back slowly, using the same mocking tenderness as before, and flesh and bone were pulled with them. He drew both hands together, slowly, and when they met he began to shape Grey's hand into something else entirely. Grey, unable to keep screaming, mewled like an animal caught in a trap. The Fiend shushed him as though he was a fussy child.

There was a crack. The Fiend jerked back. His hands slid away from Grey. The pain stopped.

The way the noise reverberated through the alley made it seem thunderously loud, hardly recognizable as a gunshot.

As Grey sank to his knees his vision cleared. He saw the Fiend, lying on the pavement with a surprised look frozen on his face. There was a bloody hole where his left eye had been. The stuff that oozed from his eye and the back of his head looked too viscous, too close to black to even look like vitae. Poisoned, the voices whispered with their return. It devoured the soul from within. The Beast was more than willing to taste it anyway. The scent of vitae, tainted or not, was almost too intoxicating resist. Grey scrambled back, denying it the chance. The corpse was decaying rapidly anyway, betraying its age and robbing the Beast of any hope of a sample. He knew from the moment his hand touched the pavement that something was horribly wrong. He held his arm to survey the damage, his mouth dropping open at what he saw.

"Oh god," he heard Damsel say. Her voice was small and frightened, so very unlike her. "His hand. Look at his hand."

But Grey didn't have a hand anymore, not really. The flesh and bone from his forearm down had been melded together to form a single crude, pale tentacle. At the tip Grey could see the faint outlines of where his fingers had been, but their bones had been mashed together like so much clay, stretched out into a thin and useless point that might have once been part of a fingernail. When he thought of making a fist, the tentacle curled inwards. When he tried to wiggle his phantom fingers, it writhed spasmodically. He stared at it blankly, transfixed, and when strong hand lifted him by the shoulders he did not resist. Skelter had to physically turn him around to face the others. Damsel's tough girl façade had evaporated with what she had witness. She looked shocked and horrified. Grey almost couldn't blame her for not intervening. Nines was next to her, his arms at his sides. A gun was in his right hand. He looked grim. He turned to Damsel and had to roughly nudge her to stop her from staring. She lashed out at him with a snarl, normal behavior from her was comforting to see. Nine's coolly brushed her hand aside, and after tucking the gun into the waistband of his jeans he pointed to Grey.

"Get him out of here," he said. "Go straight to the bar. Stay in the open, but make sure nobody sees his hand." He glanced to Grey as with the last instruction, just to make sure he'd got that, too.

"Hand…" Grey echoed. His voice sounded strangely dreamy, even to him. "Yes, I know it's in here somewhere."

"Just worry about getting off the street right now," Nines said. "Both of you." He looked to Skelter, who was busy kicking in what little remained of the Fiend. "We're gonna go back."

"Bullshit!" Damsel hissed. "I'm going too!"

"You'd only see worse than that," Nines said, nodding back to Grey and the ashes. Grey saw Damsel fight to keep from showing her fear at the prospect. Nines went on, "Another night, Damsel. I promise you you'll get your chance. Just go now, please."

Damsel nodded her agreement, still scowling. With the Fiend scattered all about the alley Skelter returned to Nines side. They wore matching looks of anger and disgust. Grey didn't need any flash of insight to know what the intended to do once they had separated. Nines tucked his gun into the waistband of his jeans and pulled his shirt over it, enough to foil a cursory glance. Grey was certain he hadn't come to the theatre armed, yet for various reasons he hadn't paid attention to see if he had stashed anything before they entered. He always missed the mundane details. He only wished he'd thought of doing the same for his knife, and he thought about it every time the serpentine ruin of his hand twitched.

"That thing looked too fucking normal to be a damn Tzimisce," he heard Skelter say to Nines as they left.

"That's probably the point," Nines said gravely. They both disappeared down the alley Grey and Damsel had come from.

Damsel took his arm to lead him again, but only after she had moved to the side opposite his twisted arm. Grey stuck his hand in his pocket, the cut of them no long quite so fitting. As they walked back towards a civilization oblivious to what had taken place there between the bones of the city, Grey worried about what he was going to do with his ruined hand. He wouldn't have been so upset if it had been his offhand, but as it was he had invested all his fine motor skills in the right hand that was now just a barely functional bit of taffy.

_It will heal_, a voice assured him. It rose above the others long enough for those three words to filter through, and then it was gone again, vanished into the endless buzz of messages and conversations never meant for him.

"Yes," Grey said. The utter certainty that had been in those three words was enough.

"Oh no," Damsel said, naturally only privy to his response. "Don't you fucking start. Not now."

Amazingly he didn't.


	7. Sour Grapes

**Chapter 7: Sour Grapes**

The building Jack ushered Dave into was a garage, a very suspicious looking garage. Parts were scattered all over the floor and work benches lined one wall. Dave was acutely aware of the buzz of the fluorescent lights, and added to the sound of gunshots and screams it made him feel even more on edge. Boxes of salvaged parts, some of them oozing oil, were stacked along the back wall. Next to those and blocking the other exit was the rusted frame of a car with nothing left to salvage. Without any kind of ladder in sight Dave was forced to use those as a way up to the catwalk that wrapped around the room. There were more boxes there, and windows that looked in on some kind of office. Something that looked like a swiss army knife was lying on top of one of the boxes. When Dave picked it up and examined it more closely he saw the tools folded inside definitely weren't the standard. He knew a lock pick when he saw one, had even used one on several occasions, but his own set had been lost long ago when fleeing from a pack of guard dogs. He couldn't remember which celebrity estate that had been, Doberman were too popular for that. Dave looked around and slipped the lock pick into the front pocket opposite his camera. That reminded him he hadn't checked the back pocket during the lecture before, but it only took a quick pat to confirm his sire had at least thought to take his wallet off him. That was fifteen dollars and two movie ticket stubs he'd never see again.

Dave didn't have to search much to find Jack. Right around the corner was a long hallway dotted with windows, Jack was kneeling by the farthest one. There was no time to ask how he'd gotten there, because as soon as Jack saw Dave he beckoned him over.

"Stay away from the windows," Jack whispered urgently.

Dave had to stoop to go along with that, but the way his spine had been twisted made it that much easier. Dave added that to the growing pile of things he didn't want to think about and focused on keeping his head down. As soon as he was near Jack and between windows he stood up, his vertebrae cracking loudly on the way up. Jack didn't look away from the window, he groaned at what he saw.

"It's a Sabbat raid," Jack said. "The Sabbat…" He trailed off and looked to Dave, frowning. "Christ, I was hopin' to spare ya this shit 'til later. The Sabbat, well, ah," he hesitated again. "They're mostly mindless, bloodthirsty assholes, that's all you need to know for now, alright?"

"Um, okay." Dave tried to glance out the window, but he couldn't see anything but a brick wall from where he was standing. "So, what's up?"

"The Sabbat got wind of the gathering here so they must've figured they raise a little hell and put a little heat on the new _Prince._"

All the contempt dripping off the last word made Dave curious. "Prince? What's he the prince of?" he asked.

"No time for political rundown. Job one? Get out of here alive. Sabbat might be mindless but they hit like a Mack truck, like fuckin' raging savages… nothing a fledgling like you wants to mess with."

"Then what am I supposed to do?" Dave said, the frustrated edge was back.

Jack waved the question away and looked back to the window, lowering his voice again as he said, "Shh. Heads up. Back away."

Dave backed away from the window as Jack said, and then he saw what he was talking about. There were two figures in the alley below, one had a submachine gun, the other was crouched like an animal and looked just as twisted as Dave did. The twisted guy howled, and the other let loose with the gun. Dave looked to the other window to see they were shooting at the freaky tall guy that had been with him on stage. As the bullets hit him he barely flinched, and all he did in response was open his mouth. No sound came out, at least nothing Dave could hear, but within seconds something that looked like an rust-tinged oil spill oozed from the shadows of the alley. Dave moved closer to the window despite what Jack said, watching in horrified fascination as it engulfed the two figures. The two started screaming just as the mass engulfed them. In seconds there was nothing to left behind but the gun, and as Dave watched the mass that had devoured them splinted into cockroaches, hundreds and hundreds of cockroaches that scattered in all directions once there was nothing left to consume. Dave shuddered and stepped back, but as he did he caught sight of the gray-skinned freak looking up at the window. Dave froze, and after a beat the man turned and walked away. He might not have seen, Dave told himself.

"Dumb frenzied Sabbat bastards," Jack snorted. He took a step back and glanced around the corner. "Alright, we gotta vamoose out the back, quick. I'll stay and keep a watch out. You get us into the office. Doors around the corner there."

Dave nodded. It was something to do, if nothing else. "I'm on it."

The door at the end of the hall was locked, which made the lock pick Dave had found seem like way too much of a coincidence. He told himself he could wonder about it later and bend down to put it to use. Picking the lock was no problem. The problem was having to look at the huge boils on his hand and arm as he did it, up until then he had almost pushed how he looked out of his mind. The lock caught before he could let himself go any further with that. As soon as Dave opened the door he heard glass shattering, and as he stepped into the office beyond he heard Jack chuckling. Dave looked to the broken window and raised an eyebrow.

"Uhh… Shortcut," Jack said, nudging the broken glass aside with his boot. "Well, nicely done though. Not exactly an angel in life, were ya?"

"I had my moments," Dave said defensively.

"I believe you," Jack grinned. "Now, if you want a lesson how really not to act, take notes from those Sabbat assholes." He thumbed towards the window he'd broken, even if it did only look out on the garage the noise was still there. "You're a big bad vampire- yeah, great congrats- now keep it to yourself. You go roar and beat your chest and that's what you can expect."

"Why not?"

"It's the same reason you don't let humans see you feeding. It's why the wolf doesn't want the sheep to know he's there. It's also why you don't go juggling dumpsters or outrun the 8:15 from Sacramento. And it's… it's why you didn't know any of this when you woke up this morning."

Dave looked at him in disbelief. "I could really do that stuff?"

"The juggling dumpsters thing, maybe, but don't get any ideas."

"Right."

"Keep our secrets secret and you make things easier on all of us. We're living in the age of cell phone cameras, so fuckups ain't tolerated. Makes sense enough, right? Well, it ain't a casual thing for a fledgling like you. Especially in _your_ situation. Your ass is on the wire, kid."

"What do you mean? What could happen?"

"That party back there- the guy with the suit and Magilla Gorilla? The assholes that put your sire to death? That's the Camarilla. _Hmph_. They make a tidy business out of enforcing 'vampire laws'-" he made air quotes as he rolled his eyes. "Like this one."

"I see…"

"And you, my fugly friend, are gonna have it extra hard. A little effort and the rest of us can blend in okay. A sighting of your hideous ass hits the internet and it's all over. There's a reason most Nosferatu smell like the sewer… figure it out."

"Nosferatu?"

"That's you," Jack said. "Your clan I mean. It's your bloodline, your breed, whatever the hell you wanna call it. You become what your sire was, and in your case that's fuckin' ugly, get it? Your kind'll be real easy to pick out, that is if you even see 'em at all."

"Great." He was getting the feeling that the less he said the better, because he was inching closer and closer to just curling up and sobbing until his vocal chords gave out. Shock only lasted so long, especially with all the unpleasant information getting shoveled on top of him.

Jack must have seen it in his face, hard as that had to be. "Heh, you get used to it. Now, c'mon, let's get the hell outta here."

Heh walked past Dave to the door. "Heh, wouldja look at this? Takes a key card." He grinned, and before Dave could ask how they were going to get through he bashed the door open with frightening ease. It only took a few hits before there was little left of the door but the electronic lock and handle. Dave stared at the splintered remnants of the door, his mouth hanging open.

"What's a little more property damage, huh?" Jack said. "You go on ahead, I'm gonna go check out things from topside."

Words failed him yet again, so Dave settled for just nodding before he very carefully stepped into a narrow stair well. There was nowhere to go but down and out. And as soon as Dave stepped outside he was shot. Twice. A bullet landed in his chest, another one clipped his shoulder, and from the end of the alley he heard laughter. He'd been stabbed before, punched more than a few times, but never shot. Strangely enough, it didn't hurt nearly as much as it probably should have, and even in the midst of it all he found himself staring down at the new hole in his chest. The gunfire stopped a second later, and once he was able to look away the damage and back across the alley he saw Jack standing over the shooter's corpse. Dave hurried over to him, but he came skidding to a halt once he got within a few yards of the fire burning in the rusty barrel near Jack. Even from that distance it unnerved him even more than getting shot at had, and he couldn't understand why.

Jack didn't seem anywhere near as fazed by the burn barrel, in the glow of the fire he looked almost lively. Dave tried to keep his eyes on Jack and not the fire, and as he stared Jack kicked the corpse in the head just for good measure. Dave looked down and was surprised to see that not only did his attacked look like a teenage boy, but as he watched its features shriveled to make it look like a corpse that had been left out for at least a week. Things were only getting stranger by the minute.

"Fuckin' waste of unlife," Jack spat.

"He shot me," Dave said, feeling stupid for saying it.

"Heh, yeah, that'll close up soon enough, don't worry." Jack lifted the corpse up as if it weighed nothing, but after what he did to the door Dave couldn't be surprised.

"What're you doing?" Dave asked.

"You remember what I said about fire?" Jack said.

"Uh, yeah…"

"Check this out."

He dumped the corpse head first into the burning barrel behind him. There was a hiss, and the flames leapt up to consume the corpse. It took a moment to realize the hiss was from him, not the fire. Jack had stepped back, and when Dave looked to him he saw a brief flicker of the same fear he'd felt before. It vanished as he laughed again. It took some effort for Dave to look back to the barrel, and already he could make out very little of the body Jack had thrown in. And that had been in _seconds_. Dave's mouth opened and closed wordlessly in renewed shock. He looked to Jack again, confused and frightened for an entirely new reason.

"That's what fire does to Kindred, kiddo," Jack said. "You're walking kindling now, and the Beast knows that even better than you do. Hunger's one thing, but fire will send it into a whole 'nother kind of frenzy. _Rötshreck_, they call it, the red fear… Which is really just a another bullshit fancy term meaning fire makes ya go apeshit if you're not careful."

There was a rustle and a few sparks were thrown into the air as what was left of the corpse collapsed in the flames. Dave couldn't stand to watch any longer.

"What did you mean by 'Beast'?" he asked, addressing the base of chain link fence Jack was standing near. His raspy voice was trembling. He moved a few steps to the side and felt a little less skittish for it, but the image of the body going up in flames was still with him.

Jack's expression turned grim. "The Beast? It's always there, waiting to take over. You felt it clawin' at you back there outside the theatre, I could tell by the look in your eyes. When it takes over it's like a wild animal wearin' your skin… desperate, scared, reckless. It'll do anything to survive, and it's you that has to deal with the consequences. Fire just upsets it… it's givin' in and killin' people that gives it strength, makes it eat away at your humanity 'til there's nothing left of you but the body its usin' to kill and feed."

"Wait, I can't kill _anyone_?" Dave said. He gestured to the barrel. "What about guys like him?"

"There's exceptions to every rule," Jack said, clicking his tongue. "Sometimes defendin' yourself means some asshole's gotta die. Self-preservation is a vital part of humanity, after all. My favorite part, in fact. Just don't go leaving a trail of corpses behind you, okay? Discretion's kinda important, too. Goes with the '_masquerade'_, feh." He rolled his eyes over the terminology again.

"I think I follow you…"

"Just remember, the only way to fight the Beast is too keep in touch with your humanity, and don't go hungry. It's a fine line."

"I understand." He was actually still waiting to wake up, but he still had to go along with things.

"Right, so..." Jack paused and leaned against the chain link fence. "Damn, another one's close by. Probably not much of a threat by himself, but you never know how many are in shouting range. You're gonna have to sneak past."

At that point Dave was willing to do anything if it meant getting out away from all the madness, but just as he was about to push the fence open Jack's arm went out to stop him. It was like walking into a steel barrier.

"What?" Dave said, taking a step back.

"I got an idea," Jack said, glancing back beyond the fence. "I think it's time we saw what you can do."

"What do you mean?"

"I don't know how good you might be in a fight, but I _do_ know your kind's got a knack for sneakin' around undetected- even in plain sight. Hell, you'd have to be."

"Okay, enough already! I'm ugly! I get it!" Dave felt a nasty presence deep inside him uncurl a little. The thought of how bad it would be to lose it in front of Jack- Hell, on Jack- made him try to rein in it.

Jack held his hands up in a placating gesture. "Shh… Keep it down, now. I'm just sayin', kid. If you can manage to keep these maniacs from seeing you it'll make gettin' out of this a helluva lot easier."

"What am I supposed to do? Just hope he doesn't see me?"

"Kind of, but there's more than that, kid…" Jack gave him about speculative look. "Alright, let me give you a few pointers. The trick is that it's all in the mind. If you've got the knack, then they won't see you just because you don't want them to, get it? You think about removin' yourself from the picture and boom, as far as anyone around is concerned you're not there."

Dave was about to say that would never work, but then he remembered the near-disaster in the alley. That man had looked right at him, _through_ him. But then, the shadows had been thick, too. Beyond the fence were a lot of lights.

"Of course," Jack went on. "You do anything to draw attention to youself- make any kind of noise or hit something, and it's all shot to hell."

"Okay, but if it's something 'my kind'-" he made air quotes with his fingers. "-is so good at, then why do _you_ know?"

"Not like any of these powers are exclusive, kid. Well, some of them, maybe, but you wouldn't want to go to the trouble to know _those_. The important thing is I know enough to tell you, alright? So let's see how you fly."

Dave nodded and pushed open the door. He was almost past it when a thought occurred to him. He glanced back at Jack, "_Can_ I fly?"

Jack snorted with laughter. "Uh… no."

"Just making sure." Dave moved away, careful not to make noise, and prepared to test what Jack had told him. He was screwed if Jack's information was wrong, and for all he knew the other vampire could be setting him up for massive, deadly failure. All he could do was file that with the dozen other things he was trying to avoid thinking of. The space beyond the fence was a mess, an alley with junk scattered throughout. There was a rusting car without tires that looked like it had been backed up into the light pole it was beneath. The pole slanted at a dangerous looking angle and cast weird shadows over the old crates and other wrecks scattered around. As Dave slipped around the side of the car and tried to picture the whole scene as if he were outside of it, like maybe from where he heard pacing footsteps up ahead. Like a five-year-old, he tried to remove himself by the picture just be thinking hard enough.

He moved past the car, tried hold the image of the blank stretch of wall in his mind. There was another light up ahead, another crate, and a man covered from head to toe in dirt walked past before Dave had time to hide. He froze. The man stopped and turned towards him. There were no shadows to hide him this time. Worse, the place he was crouched, between the box and the wall, was well lit. Dave closed his eyes.

_Don't see me, don't see me, don't see me_, ran through his head, over and over, like a mantra.

He heard the man's footsteps very close now, move past. Dave opened his eyes. It had worked. He was close enough that he could see clouds of dirt rolling off the man's clothes as he moved past, it looked like he'd been buried alive.

Dave was trying to think of where to go from there when an explosion sent the dirt-covered man flying backwards. There was a crash, and when Dave slipped forward to peer around the box he saw the man lying in the wreckage of what had been a wooden fence. He stood up and was thankful his back didn't make as much noise about it as before. Laughter from around the corner surprised him even more than the blast. It was Jack again.

"Man, how 'bout that," Jack said. "Fireworks in October."

"How do you keep doing that?" Dave said, his tone gave away too much of how tense he was.

"What, you mean getting ahead of you?" Jack smirked. "It's what I do best, kiddo."

Dave frowned, but a groan from across the alley drew his attention back to the man laying in the pile of wood. He looked to Jack and asked, "Did you do that?"

"Now where would I get my hands on that kind of explosives?" Jack's innocent expression wasn't at all convincing. "Nah, looks like they're getting careless about where they throw stuff."

Dave didn't feel like arguing. All he wanted was the night to be over, maybe for everything to be back to normal as a bonus. "What do we do now?"

"_You_ are gonna get the hell outta here," Jack said, patting the pockets of his denim vest. He didn't continue until after he withdrew a cigar stub. "I'm gonna stick around and bust some heads."

"That's it?" Dave asked, but Jack was already pushing him towards the hole in the fence.

"Hey, your odds of survival are slim enough as it is," Jack said. "No sense tempting fate tonight."

Dave had to step over the body of the man, who was starting to looking like he was coming out of his daze. He turned back to face Jack just in time to see him bring his boot down on the man's head. Dave suddenly understood why it was said to be like crushing an overripe grape so much. Blood went everywhere, so did little bits of bone and brain. He took a few steps back, more from surprise than a conscious effort to keep from getting blood on his jeans. He barely kept his footing as he did it, and all the while Jack was searching for his lighter like he hadn't just brought his foot down on some helpless person.

Jack didn't look up until the cigar stub was lit, but Dave was still staring at him in shock when he did.

"Aw, don't look at me like that," Jack said. "The guy woulda suffered something a whole lot worse if not for that. These shovelheads are lucky to last a couple of nights." He waves the cigar stub. "Call it hurrying him along."

Dave closed his mouth. After what Jack had said about his own chances of survival he wondered why he'd bothered.

Jack seemed to pick up on what he was thinking. "Christ, kid, you think I would've wasted half my night on you if I didn't think you had some chance?"

Dave shook his head.

"There ya have it then. Now quit gawkin' and get a move on. You're ride's probably still waiting if all the excitement didn't scare him off."

Dave nodded, afraid to say anything more, and turned to walk down the alley.

"Hey, hold on a sec," Jack called. Dave look back and saw he was still standing over the headless corpse. "If you do manage to survive, you should drop by a place downtown called the Last Round. Then I can really tell you what's what."

Dave nodded again, then finally found his voice. "Thanks."

Jack waved at him with the cigar. "Good luck, kid. Don't do anything stupid."

Dave turned and walked away. He still didn't know where he was supposed to go from there.


	8. Lost and Found

**Chapter 8: Lost and Found**

The next night found Grey sitting in his haven, trying to force his hand back into its proper shape. The downtown apartment had been very nicely furnished when he acquired it, but that had been early in his unlife and in the years since it had been necessary to make a few changes. There was very little left in the living room, where Grey was sitting. The couch faced a blank wall, the TV having been exiled to the closet three years ago. He'd grown tired of it turning itself on and trying to tell him things. The large potted palm that had one stood guard by the door was dead and gone, but Grey kept the empty pot there was a memorial to its years of service. He could have perhaps repaid its watchfulness by remembering to water it, but that was all in the past. There was nothing left of the lovely dining room set, but he could never remember what it had done to offend him.

Upstairs there was his windowless bedroom, which contained only a bed, and the bathroom which only saw him when he needed a shower. His desk and computer, his most steadfast of companions, looked down from the second floor balcony. And as Grey looked to them he remembered the coffee table had met its end when he felt compelled to leap from that same balcony one night. Something to do with a rabbit hole maybe, he wasn't sure. That only left the couch, which he was sitting on, and the fish tank built into the east wall. He'd taken good care of the tropical fish within, even though it required accessing a claustrophobic hidden room to do so much as feed them. He liked the fish, they didn't judge him. How could they? They were fish. Any disdain they may have felt towards his peculiar actions could only be harbored for a few seconds at a time. He especially liked that about them. So while the rest of the apartment might have been a barren husk, the pH in the fish tank was perfectly balanced, the fish themselves well fed. He only wished he could keep himself in such pristine condition, but no matter how careless he might have been about his personal appearance, he couldn't let his hand remain as it was.

The fish looked on impassively as Grey stared at the useless piece of flesh. He thought about the previous evening, of how quickly and effortlessly the Fiend had mashed his fingers together. He let Damsel drag him back to the bar, just as Nines instructed, but he did not remain there for long. Once Damsel had calmed enough to begin ranting about what she would have done to the Fiend had Nines not shown up, he decided to go home. Her false bravado was sign enough she'd recover from the incident, and he knew if he remained his tongue would slip its leash and he would find himself asking why she'd opted to just stand there. That would have been disastrous. And painful, too.

No one had called, no one had dropped by to check up on him, but he couldn't blame them for that. He was valued by the Anarchs for his Sight, but if not for that he knew they wouldn't tolerate him at all. The sad fact was that any clanmate of his who flew the Anarch flag were, by and large, far more lucid than he could ever manage. He'd met some of them in the past, and it had not gone well. They always looked at him as if he alone were the crazy one, as if they didn't share a common curse. Hypocrites. Thinking of that made him feel incredibly lonely, but he'd accomplish nothing if he kept letting his thoughts wander down all those roads lined with pitfalls. He grabbed the wrist of his right hand with the one that was still whole. His control of the hand- of the _tentacle_- was still minimal. It responded to nearly every motor command by writhing spastically as the ghosts of his fingers tried to comply. All he had to do was raise the dead.

Grey concentrated, willing blood into the mess. The skin of the tentacle flushed, and fresh pain blossomed as, very slowly, it began shrivel and divide. Fingers remerged from the mess, but they were boneless slenders of flesh. This was nothing like trying to heal a small cut. For all his concentration, for all the blood he willed into the mess, it still seemed he made very little progress. He stopped with his fingers still only vaguely defined, acutely aware of how much he had burned away in the effort. Hunger gnawed at him, made his already disjointed thoughts fracture a little more. That wouldn't do. Rising from the chair, Grey moved to the kitchen counter only to find the phone was gone. The jack was still there, as was the cord, but the phone was missing.

He picked up the cord with his left hand, stared at it for a moment, and then he remembered. Two weeks ago he had thrown the phone down the air duct during a particularly bad episode. The act had been as foolish as it was futile, because even once the phone was shattered at the duct's bottom some four stories below, the voice he had heard in it stayed with him. He hadn't realized it then, not with how distorted the voice had sounded, but that had been the first time he heard his own voice chiding him. Funny how things escalate. Now it not only had a voice, but an image to haunt him with. He dropped the phone cord and turned to look at the vent the phone had been thrown into. The cover was still bent, still wouldn't quite close, but he'd worry about that later. His only hope of making a call was to find a payphone somewhere. Still cursing himself, the gnawing in his stomach only making things worse, Grey moved toward the door. He grabbed a light jacket from the floor and shrugged it on. He deflated right hand made things difficult, but he had to show some pretense to feeling the autumn chill.

Payphones were a dying breed, pushed to the brink of extinction by the rise of cell phones. The first one Grey found was not far from his apartment building, but someone had ripped the receiver from it, jacked the coin box, and had stolen the phone book cord and all. Grey continued on, both hands in his pocket, and at last found an intact but sickly specimen several blocks away. The coins he fed to it rattled in an empty belly, and the receiver smelt. He dialed the number and waited for the call to connect. The first ring droned in his ear, then a second, and while he waited and grew more anxious Grey had the distinct impression he was being watched. He looked up and accidentally made eye contact with a prostitute standing further down the block. She smiled and made a wobbly turn on her spiked heels to give him a better view. The phone kept ringing, and Grey shook his head to show his disinterest. The sneer of disgust from the woman was chased quickly by a hacking cough. Grey turned to one side and leaned closer to the phone. The lewd messages scrawled across the body of the phone swam before his eyes, the letters rearranging themselves into even more disquieting messages. He closed his eyes and listened, one more ring he would be forwarded to voice mail, and that would ruin his plans for the evening.

There was a click halfway through the sixth ring. " 'Lo?" a woman's voice said.

"Cheryl!" He said, more relieved than he perhaps should have been.

"Oh, hey Grey," she replied. The connection was clear, and yet still she sounded very far away. "I was wondering when you'd call. Where've you been?"

The more she spoke, the more the unsettling quality of her voice became more clear to him. On the other end of the line, somewhere in the background, he heard voices. He barely registered the fact his own were strangely quiet thus far. He leaned his head to his shoulder to trap the receiver by his ear, so with his left hand he was able to cover the worst of the writing on the phone. He could feel the letters crawling under his skin, trying to escape and tell him all the things he already suspected and did not want to see.

"Where does my heart lie?" he asked, trying to keep his voice level and calm. He could hear noise in the background that sounded like it might be from a TV.

Cheryl uttered a feeble laugh. "I love it when you call me stuff like that."

"Cheryl," he said, more insistant. "My darling, my doll, whose house are you playing in?"

"I'm just at Dennis's," she replied, sounding defensive. "Y'know, just for a little pick-me-up. They've got this new stuff, totally new. It's great. Not speed or anything. That stuff's nasty."

He heard laughter on the other end of the call, not Cheryl's, and then a man's voice, too muffled to make out. "Nah, stop it," he heard Cheryl say.

"I told you not to go there," Grey said, in his distress he forgot to word it safely.

"No, it's okay," she said, sounding like she was still drifting further. "I didn't get that much. Just a sample. You don't have to worry." There was a low roar as she leaned too close to the phone and breathed in. She whispered into the phone, "The way you make me feel, it's so much better. Don't tell, 'kay?"

"Cheryl," he said, his tone pleading. His distraught was genuine, and that surprised him.

Cheryl kept whispering, oblivious, "I miss it. I miss you. Why don't you come over anymore?"

He couldn't answer that. He listened to her breathing, pitched his hearing a little higher and was finally able to hear more of the voices in the background, even over the droning of the television. "Why the hell did you let her have that much?"

He knew. He knew from the moment he heard her voice. He knew exactly where she was, exactly what her veins were clogged with. It was his fault.

"Cheryl, sweetheart," he said into the phone, speaking loudly. "Wait for me, won't you?"

"M'kay," Cheryl sighed. He doubted she really heard him now. He heard the same man's voice from before, more clearly, probably closer, say, "Who're you talking to?"

Cheryl said, "Gotta go. Love you." And then she hung up.

Grey took the receiver back in hand, remembering to pitch his hearing to normal levels only after the disconnect tone bored into his ears. He saw the writing on the phone was the same sentence, over and over again.

_You destroy everything you touch._

He slammed the receiver against the body of the phone once, twice, three times, harder and harder, nearly jarring it from the wall in his anger. The black plastic splintered into pieces, and in an instant the words snapped back to the names and numbers of girls with low standards across LA. The droning from the phone went on, but underneath it he could hear laughter, the laughter of many, many voices. They were right. Cheryl was building a raft to the afterlife out of powders and pills and worse, and it was his fault. He was her gateway drug, she was his precious little blood doll. The chorus told him this, in many different ways, punctuated with many other awful accusations. Digging the nails of his left hand into one temple and the deflated flesh of the right into the other, Grey turned away from the phone and started walking. After a few more paces he started to run. He didn't so much hail as cab as he nearly walked into the path of one. That worked even better.

He climbed in while the driver was still busy cursing him and, pulling out the wad of bills he'd forgotten he had in the coat pocket, he told him where he needed to go and how fast. The money explained it better than he was able, and as the cab sped off he was pushed into the back of the seat. Time raced ahead of the car, mocking him as it pulled away his chance to get there in time. One could only go from Downtown LA to Santa Monica so quickly without violating certain key laws of time and space.

Grey stared out the window as LA unraveled before them. When the cab pulled onto the freeway the scenery blurred, but Grey knew it had nothing to do with the speed of the car.

The road had vanished, replace by an endless expanse of dark clouds. Grey was still safely inside the cab, merely a spectator in what unfolded outside. He saw noble Mercury, the messenger, flying alongside the cab. He did not see Grey, so there was little use in calling out a warning, as dark, faceless figures burst forth and grabbed the messenger. They dragged Mercury back down the earth, and Grey was filled with a horrible sensation of falling as his view from within was pulled with them. Mercury tried to fight, but the forms were too many. They savagely beat him, ripped his wings from him, and left him for dead there on the cruel earth. Grey pressed his hands against the window, but he could not come closer. His only consolation was the grim certainty that Mercury had wings the dark forms could not see. Grey could know not know if that was enough to see him safely away, because the cab driver's voice dragged him back to what really lay outside the cab window. They had arrived at the location Grey had given, a dead end street built too close to the edge of the cliff, with a trail of derelict beach houses leading to the only one that was occupied- his true destination. He pressed the wad of bills over to the driver's eager hands, and was abandoned as soon as he stepped out on to the pavement. As the cab turned in the closest driveway Grey stared up at the sky. The storm clouds gathering in the night sky were familiar, though before he had only seen them from above. He looked down and knew that, coincidence of coincidences, Mercury had fallen not far from here. His vision, then, was one of the past. He hated when he got those, there was rarely anything he could do about them. Still, he wondered what purpose Mercury would have here, because there was only one thing that could truly make him fly.

He shook his head and tried to focus on Cheryl.

He found no one watching the side gate of the fence that encircled the house. Slowly, cautiously, Grey traced a wide circle around the house until he drew to its front door. An ancient minibus was parked precariously near the cliff, its lights on and carving bright gouges into the darkness covering most of the yard. Grey was careful to avoid it as he made his way to the front porch, where he found beach towels hanging over the railing. One would think, to see the outside, that it was merely the home of those who enjoyed the beach. He heard someone say, "Get her legs," as he began to climb the porch steps. The front door was hanging open, the ugly truth was lying right inside.

The scene beyond the door froze as soon as it swung open and hit the wall. The man in the hooded sweatshirt who had just grabbed Cheryl's legs looked back. The man who was holding her under the arms stared. From the corner of his eye Grey saw a figure in the door way, dark skinned with some kind of white shirt, but his eyes were drawn immediately to Cheryl. His darling blood doll had been reduced to a useless rag doll. She hung lifelessly in the arms of the two men, her body sagging between them. Her make-up was smeared, her blonde hair was a mess. Her expression was not so much peaceful as dazed, as though she'd been caught unaware by the Reaper. Grey blinked, and what he feared was true. He saw no halo of color around her. The others present burned with confusion and fear. Grey took a step into the room, and the auras of the two men faded from his vision again. Time recovered from its brief lapse, and the two men looked at the body, to each other, to Grey, and finally to the man at the door. Grey was still staring at Cheryl- poor, dead Cheryl.

"You don't wanna be here right now, my man," he heard a voice say, followed by the sound of a gun cocking.

The words, and the noise, barely registered. It was meant to intimidate him, but he was already far beyond that. His vision was flushed with red, the entire dingy living room of the beach house was painted in shades of it. Cheryl's body, the men, all of them were red. Rage and despair filled him, they mixed together with the hunger that had been present all along, and it called to the Beast. As Grey was dragged under, it rose.

When Grey regained himself he sucking on an empty vein. The taste of cheap cologne from the lifeless next mixed unpleasantly with the blood still on his tongue, and as Grey pulled his fangs away he saw that he saw that it was none other than Dennis, the chemist responsible for all the horrible things that were made and concocted in the house. Grey stared at Dennis' face, his dark skin made ashen by the utter lack of blood, and found he felt nothing. He leaned forward, and licked the marks he had left closed, and still he felt nothing.

He left Dennis in the backroom, though he could only vaguely recall chasing him there. That had been the Beast's doing, not his. He walked like a man sleep walking into the kitchen, where the table was overturned and playing cards were scattered everywhere. He remembered leaping over the table to get at the three men, but the manner of their deaths came as a surprise to him. One was lying over the kitchen counter, his head having been pounded into a featureless pulp. The second man's necked was snapped, the third had been rendered, like Dennis, an empty husk. How had he found the time to drain them both? How long had he rampaged through the house? The questions ran through his mind dispassionately, mere idle thoughts as he moved back to the living room. The door was still open, showing the worst of the carnage to anyone who came in.

He looked at the corpses sprawled on the floor, then to the blood splattering the walls. How had he managed that? He looked at his hands, both the mangled and whole were covered in blood.

Pain caught up to him, interrupting his thoughts. He looked down and saw he'd been shot once in the shoulder and again in the chest. Denis must have gotten a few shots off before he'd hit him, and the very notion kindled the image in Grey's mind, as distorted as everything in the Beast's perception was, of him coming back to Dennis last. The chemist had lain there on the floor, choking on his own blood while Grey tore his cronies apart. And when he gorged himself on one and killed himself on the others, he'd come back to the only one left alive, however briefly. He hadn't felt so full in a long time, and he felt guilty for feeling so elated. He forced his attention back to the present, back to surveying what he had done.

The other bullets were imbedded in the walls, the couch, even the TV, a testament of the wild desperation of the men he'd fallen upon. Blood was splattered in odd places, but no images rose to explain them. He moved fully into the living room and found Cheryl was still lying there. The blood she was covered was not hers, the Beast interested only in defiling those that still lived and breathed. but it didn't make anything better.

He pushed the other bodies away and sank down on his knees to pick Cheryl up. The drying blood on his hands made his fingers feel stiff and awkward. Blood was all over his clothes, and he could feel it on his face. It was still warm, but like Cheryl and the others, it was quickly cooling. He had no idea where his sunglasses were.

He looked around the room slowly. All this carnage, and now all he could think about was his sunglasses? Of course, they were the only thing present that had been of any real value. Grey looked at each body in turn, to the rooms that held more, and felt no remorse for what he'd done. It wasn't going to come to him, because there was no reason to feel sorry. All of them were scum, drug peddlers and thugs. He looked down at Cheryl, and very lightly brushed a fringe of hair from her face, smearing it with red. Even Cheryl wasn't worth that much, he had to admit. All he'd used her for was blood, a reliable source when he could find nothing better. That was why he didn't call. He should have told her that. It would have been easy enough to veil the truth from her cow's eyes, it was close enough to say he was only using her for her body.

So why had he rushed over to save her? What was the use?

A voice from the door derailed his train of thought, once again, into a fiery wreck. "_Grey_?"

There was horror in the one word, as well as disbelief and, more troubling of all, recognition.

Grey looked up. The Nosferatu from the night before, the one the Prince had so graciously spared, was standing in the door.

He heard laughter, his own, to his right. He looked and saw Paul leaning against the big screen TV, it's screen a dark and shattered ruin from the stray bullet it had taken. Paul's clothes and hair were immaculate, nothing out of place, not a drop of blood on him. He was just as Grey had seen him in the theatre, the lively specter of the man he used to be.

Paul grinned maliciously as Grey stared. "I told you, didn't I?"

Grey was speechless. He looked back to the door, where the Nosferatu was standing. He couldn't think of him as Dave, not yet, but he appeared to be in a similar state. Grey knew how this looked.

"Go on, say something," Paul said. "The second you open your mouth he'll know you're out of your fucking mind."

"Shut up!"

Paul pointed, his grin widening into an even more unpleasant look of triumph. "There! See? You're already talking to yourself."

Grey cast a worried glance back at Dave- no, the Nosferatu- to find he was staring at him, but before he could begin to explain his attention was dragged back to his other half as he spoke again.

"But, hey, it's Dave. Don't look at me like that, you know it just as well as I do." Paul began to trace his finger along the top of the TV. "I'm sure he'll understand if you just explain that the reason you _have_ talk like that is to throw off the Antediluvians."

"No! Just go away!" Grey's voice was rising to hysterical levels, but he couldn't stop himself.

"I'm not going anywhere." Paul said. He moved away from the TV, leaving impossibly clean footprints in the gore spattering the carpet. "You know exactly how this looks, don't you? So then why can't you see that you're slipping?"

"I'm _not_!"

"Oh yes you are," Paul said, looming over him now. "Take a good look in the mirror." He pointed at the front door. "You'll see you're even more fucking disgusting than Davie there's become. I hope you realize that."

"Shut up!" Grey howled. He dug his bloody fingers into his temples as the voices rose in a chorus of agreement with Paul.

He destroyed everything. He was worthless, completely unable to control himself. He was nothing like the one who had made him, because he couldn't handle what he was made to see. He should listen to them. They knew better than he did. Their jibes and accusations multiplied in number and volume until his head buzzed with them, until he was unable to pick out more than a scattered, venomous words. He felt the Beast, deep inside him, lift its head from where it lay glutted and content within his heart. It was not so glutted that it couldn't come out again, and if it did, there was only one person it could throw itself at.

Grey dug his fingers harder into his temples, trying to fight it back, trying to make the noise stop. "Shut up!"

He felt fresh crescents of blood rose under his intact fingers. The pain helped, even if his right hand could do nothing. He screwed his eyes shut, curled up as though he was being physically assaulted, but for all his effort the din only grew louder. Laughter, jeering, sighs, it drowned out everything but Paul as he clicked his tongue and said, "Pathetic."

"SHUT UP!" Grey screamed.

And then there was silence.

Grey remained curled up on the floor, his hands on his head. He was too afraid to move. He heard footsteps, but he didn't dare look up.

Then he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"It's alright." It was Dave's voice, warped and twisted as the rest of him, but still Dave's.


	9. A Very Bloody Reunion

**Chapter 9: A Very Bloody Reunion**

Things sure as hell were _not_ alright, but Dave didn't know what else to say.

His best friend was a vampire too, which would have been great if not for what he'd walked in on. Bodies were all over the place, blood was everywhere. Grey was in the middle of it, also covered in blood. If seeing all that hadn't been enough to shock Dave out of hiding, he was pretty sure blurting Grey's name did the trick. After that all he could do was stare while Grey started arguing with someone who wasn't there. For all he knew it could have been the TV, which was still throwing off sparks from where it'd been shot. Either way, it looked like Grey had seriously lost it sometime since he disappeared. The more agitated Grey got, the more Dave felt like he had to step in and do something, but then Grey started screaming and clutching his head. If all the blood hadn't been hint enough, the glimpse of fangs Dave caught before Grey doubled over killed off any lingering doubt. One moment they weren't there, the next they were. He wished _his_ fangs did that, he would have even settled for just having two, but it was a really bad time to start feeling bitter again.

Part of him wanted to just turn and walk away, forget he'd ever seen Grey having some kind of psychotic fit. He could just tell Mercurio he'd found nothing in the house, easy as that. There had to be other places to get explosives around LA. Maybe even lots of places, knowing LA. Some other, less selfish part of him must have won, because before he knew it he was walking inside. His boots made squishing noises on the carpet where the blood still hadn't quite dried, but he couldn't let that stop him. The dead girl lying right next to Grey was another problem, but it showed his gag reflex must have died with him. Good to know.

He knelt down over Grey while he was still curled up in the floor, kept his eyes focused on him instead of the other stuff in the room. It wasn't easy. He put his hand on Grey's shoulder. He had to say something.

"It's alright."

It sounded pretty lame once it was out of his mouth, but he'd never been good with words. That had always been Grey's thing, he was the writer. All Dave ever did for a living, after the acting thing fell through, was hide in bushes and take pictures. They'd been friends though, he had to remember that above everything else. It was still the same Grey, just a little bloody and maybe a little crazy too. He could deal with that. He was dealing with everything else okay.

Grey was very still. He didn't tremble, or sob, he didn't even breathe, which kind of figured.

He felt Grey's chest rise just enough to say, "You should not be here." His voice was hoarse, probably the result of that last really good scream.

"Sorry," Dave said. He tried to keep his eyes on the back of Grey's head, but there was blood in his hair. He couldn't look anywhere without seeing blood. He thought about what Jack said about the Beast. He had a feeling that was the explanation for everything. Hearing about what it could make a person do was one thing, _seeing_ the aftermath was the only thing that could really drive the full meaning home. The same thing was inside of him, could probably do things just as bad or even worse than was scattered all over the living room- hell, the whole house. Dave bit his lip, and the pain from all the jagged fangs digging into his chin helped to clear his mind. Later, he told himself, he'd have to worry about that later.

"I would have wished for our paths to never cross," Grey said. His chest shook with silent laughter. "But stars never fall for me."

"Sorry." He was only repeating himself, so he added, "I didn't know you'd be here."

That sounded worse, so he shut up.

Grey sat up, very slowly, and Dave could see little marks left where he'd dug his own fingers into his head. Weirdly enough, they were only on the left side of his face. Blood welled in them, but never made it to the point of oozing out. Right, his heart would have to beat for that. Dave couldn't tear his eyes away. He was close enough that he could smell that little bit of blood. Just the smell was richer and sweeter than any of the other stuff splattered around the room. Before he could give in to temptation and lean closer, he saw the cuts seal themselves all at once. He heard something- two somethings, actually- hit the carpet and bounce.

He looked down and saw two bullets, both covered in blood to match everything else, roll across the carpet. One of them came to a halt right next to the dead girl's arm. Dave turned his head away and saw why the nail marks were just on the left side. His mouth slid open in surprise. It looked like all the bones had been removed from Grey's right hand. He was about to say something when he felt the other hand, the one that wasn't deflated, on his shoulder. He looked up and realized he'd forgotten how freakishly blue Grey's eyes had always been. The contrast with the blood on his face only made them look worse, freakier. There was something else that seemed off about the way Grey looked, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He was having more and more difficulty getting past all the blood, even after haven eaten- if that's what you'd call it. Everywhere he looked, he saw something splattered with it, giving him another kick in the gut as a reminder he still wasn't all _that_ full.

"You haven't changed," Grey said. "Not really."

Dave decided to change the subject, and quickly. "So, uh, all this time…?"

Grey nodded. Dave didn't know what else to say to that, everything than ran through his mind sounded too dumb to say out loud, like how it had been, or if killing people ended up becoming a habit. Before he could think of something that didn't have anything to do with the state of the house, Grey got to his feet.

"There is an elephant in the room that needs to be addressed," he said, sounding resigned. He looked around and added, "In _every_ room. A herd."

After what he'd watched Dave wasn't sure if he meant that metaphorically or not, but he was afraid to ask. The real elephant in the room was how fucking weird Grey was acting, but he was even more afraid to bring that up. So far being Kindred seemed to consist a lot of things he couldn't say or was afraid to even think about that. He really hoped that changed soon.

"I need your eyes," Grey said.

"_What?_"

Grey made a frustrated noise. "To see that no one else stumbles upon this scene. I will clear the stage myself."

It took a moment for that to sink in. He wanted him to keep a look out, of course, that made sense. Dave almost insisted on helping, at least until he remembered that would mean touching the bodies. Worse, it would mean being surrounded by that blood smell. He took a step backwards and thumbed over his shoulder at the porch. "Okay, so I'll just wait outside while you do your thing. Sound cool?"

Grey nodded and stooped down to pick up the body of the girl. Dave quickly turned away. He was already past the threshold when he remembered the porch light being on was a bad thing for him. He reached back, without turning, and found the switch after a little fumbling. When he closed the door he was more or less in total darkness, though the shadows might have been a little thicker if not for the light post by the gate. The minibus some idiot had parked by the cliff was still idling with his headlights on, so Dave walked over, having to hop the fence to stay out of the light, and turned it off. He didn't think about whether or not vampires- no, wait, Kindred, he had to remember that- left finger prints, at least not until after he'd shut the headlights off. He looked down at his hand and rubbed his fingers together. If they _did_ leave prints, his would probably be as unrecognizable as the rest of him. Small blessings. Skirting the circle of light again, Dave settled in on the porch steps, drawing the shadows around him like a blanket. It was weird that it was already starting to feel natural, but he figured he'd better get the hang of it really damn fast if he wanted to last the week.

Funny thing was, when the night started he didn't think he could take another one.

When he woke up that evening that was it. One moment he was asleep, the next he was fully conscious. There was no slowly waking up, no rolling over and going back to sleep for a few more hours. There wasn't even the nagging he feeling he had to pee warring with feeling too comfortable to move. He was just awake. That, coupled with the fact he woke up in a place that was definitely not his apartment, made it impossible for Dave to hold on to the futile hope that it was all just a bad dream he was going to wake up from. He would have taken waking up from a coma with his muscles turned to jelly and no one waiting for him over waking up in a strange apartment with his body an ugly, boil-ridden mess. It took about ten seconds to confirm that he was not dreaming, and he was never going to wake up and find everything back to normal.

The shock still hadn't completely worn off when he sat up and took a look at his new place, so for the next few minutes he wasn't concerned with the fact that from then on everything he saw was going to count as normal.

It was the crappy apartment to end all crappy apartments. Even the first place he'd been able to afford, fresh from dropping out of college, at least had two rooms. This place had two rooms only if you counted the tiny bathroom that was one big study in mildew. The kitchen was separated from the bedroom only because the puke green shag carpet gave way to puss yellow tiles where the bedroom ended and the kitchen began. The fridge, like the mashed carpet, was a throwback from the seventies, musty gold paint and all. He could tell most of the cabinets hanging over the counter were empty because their doors were missing. An old radio sat on the counter, right next to an old pizza box that probably had a small civilization growing under the lid. He didn't feel up to lifting it to find out, so he turned away from the kitchen and saw an old TV sitting between two boarded up windows. There was a desk shoved in the corner with a laptop that looked like it had been dropped a few times. There were two pieces of paper sitting beside it, the first was a fancy looking invitation that had been knocked over, the other was a scrap of notebook paper with a message from Mercurio. The invitation contained a cryptic poem that didn't make any sense to him, other than saying something about somebody sensing potential in him. Mercurio's note was a bit more useful, seeing as it told him in plain English that his e-mail password- sunrise, real cute of them- and that there was money in the drawer. He immediately opened it and found an envelope with a hundred dollars in twenties. It was something, but as he stuffed it in his pocket he wondered how the hell he would ever be able to spend it. It would be hard to do business with anybody when one look at him could send people running away screaming. That thought made him go into the bathroom, where against his better judgment he looked into the mirror.

He didn't know how long he stood there staring at himself, all he knew that around the same time he put his hand to the mirror the shock wore off. He turned and left the bathroom and sat back down on the bed. He felt the breakdown coming on, but he couldn't do anything to stop it.

He'd heard the phrase 'hysterical sobbing' before, might have even applied it to one or two of his ex-girlfriends in the past, but he'd never fully appreciated what it really meant until then. He ended up curled on the bed in a fetal position, his arms wrapped around his chest and his nails digging into his back as his world fell in around him. As he sobbed, he thought about all the things he'd never be able to do again, which helped to keep it going.

He'd never again run down Hollywood Boulevard in the middle of the day while tourists stared and bodyguards chased him. He'd never stay up through the night and past sunrise, waiting for someone to leave their mansion so he could follow them and take embarrassing photos of them at a local Crepe Palace. He'd never be able to stay up three days straight by the sheer virtue of coffee, for no other reason than he wanted to see how long he could last. They were stupid things to mourn, but they turned out to be his own brand of pleasures he took for granted.

He'd never be able to stand the sight of his own face in the mirror.

He was pretty sure the only reason he was still alive- or existing, or whatever you were supposed to call it- was because everybody knew it was just a matter of seeing how long it'd be before he fucked up. He could do that really easily by just letting one person get a good look at him, so how the hell was he supposed to survive? Stay hidden forever?

All those thoughts went through his head again and again, and realizing that he'd spent all that time crying _blood_ didn't help at all.

When it was all over, when he couldn't cry anymore, he rolled off the bed and went to the windows. He dragged his fingers down the plywood covering them and thought about how easy it would just to take them down, lay on the bed, and wait for sunrise.

He couldn't do it, and that surprised him. He had no idea what he wanted to live for, except maybe for spite, but he still didn't want to die. He didn't exactly feel lighter for acknowledging that, but it made him feel like he could at least carry on.

So he sat down at his laptop, hit the side of the screen until it stopped flickering, and checked his e-mail. He found a cheerful reminder from the Prince that he'd be contacted, three pieces of spam- penis enlargement, something about a Krimeputer, and something he couldn't make sense of at all- and finally there was the message from Mercurio.

Subject: Welcome

From: Mercurio

Hey. Welcome to town. Come on over to my place once you get situated, and we'll talk

about what you'll need to get the job done. I'm going to pick up some explosives right

now, some Astrolite… I should be back by the time you come over. I'm at 24 Main Street,

in number 4. Walk to the end of the alley and my building and my building is the next

one on the right. You can't miss it.

"Explosives?" Dave said to himself. The sound of his own voice made his already shaky composure wobble a little more, but he'd already wasted enough time on all that.

He was halfway through the door and making a good effort not to think about what the 'job' might involve when he remembered something. If he wanted to make good with his decision to keep living he was going to have to be really careful to not be seen. Really careful. Really, _really_ careful. The hallway outside his apartment was empty, but he still made sure to use the same trick as the night before as he went downstairs. As he opened the door leading outside a strange feeling washed over him, like a cover had been pulled off him and he was suddenly exposed. It figured something as simple as opening a stupid door would still count as drawing attention to himself. Dave drew in a breath and as he slipped around the door he tried in the same moment to hide himself. He was pretty sure he was good and fucked when he saw a bum standing right next to the door.

The bum looked hopefully towards the door, but when he stared right through Dave he knew he'd pulled it off again. Grumbling to himself, the bum turned away. Dave heard him unzip his pants, and it crossed his mind that all he had to do was reach out and grab the man and he could feed. Before he knew what he was doing he was pulling the bum into the shadows. His neck smelt a lot like dirty socks, but the taste was considerably better. Blood, apparently, was blood, it didn't matter what from. Dave felt a little guilty for leaving the guy unzipped and lying in an alley, but it was hard to feel guilty for long with a fresh buzz going. Feeling refreshed, almost even content, Dave removed himself from the picture again and started toward the street. He was barely out of the alley when he caught sight of something strange.

A man was unsteadily walking towards the stoop of the building Dave was supposed to go to. When the man tried to take the first step up he fell over, and even from a distance Dave could see he was bleeding very badly. No one else on the street seemed to notice or care. Dave watched as the man hauled himself back to his feet, and lurched up the stairs to fall against the door. Dave hurried down the street, throwing himself against the wall just in time to avoid bumping into a woman passing by. When he reached the door he found a smear of blood on the sidewalk before the stairs, right where the guy had fallen, then another on the door knob. He looked up and, sure enough, the building number was 24. He opened the door and stepped inside, wiping his hand off on his jeans as he did.

Between the cranium popping last night and that, he was really going to have to find new pants, maybe even a shirt to go with it. That disorienting feeling of being dragged into the open passed after a few seconds, leaving him standing in another empty hallway. It was small, but so upscale it made his own place look like a cardboard box. The floor was tiled in white marble, making the trail of blood across it look disturbingly vivid. The trail started with a few drops just past the door and got worse as it went down the hall. In front of the last door on the right, the one marked number four, there was a splatter so large it looked like someone had thrown up blood. More of it was smeared on the one of the double doors to the apartment, which wasn't quite latched. The sight and smell of it all made him glad he'd fed. He took one large step over the puddle, pressed himself against the wall, and nudged the doors open with his boot. Just inside, sprawled on the leather couch facing the entrance, was the man from the street. Dave hadn't realized just how badly beaten he was until he saw him from the doorway. His chest heaved as if breathing took a lot of painful effort. Dave knew how he must feel, he'd failed to escape enough severe beatings in his own time to have had it tattooed in his memory. But even then, the guy in front of him looked like he shouldn't even be breathing.

When Dave stepped inside the room the doors slid closed behind him. The man grunted and pushed himself up. "Those mothers," he groaned. "Ripped me off. I'm dyin' here."

The thing was he hadn't finished pushing himself up when he said it. When he'd managed to get himself facing Dave, one look at him made the eye that wasn't swollen shut widen. He didn't scream, which surprised Dave, but he did try to play off his own look of surprise. "Christ, nobody said nothin' about you bein' a Nos." His head lolled back so that he told the ceiling, "Night's just full of surprises."

"Must've slipped their minds," Dave said, trying not to take offense. He had to assume, since the guy knew his clan, that he was Mercurio. Him being in number 4, even if he _was_ covered in blood, was another good sign. Dave mentally kicked himself for not putting it together sooner. "What happened to you?"

"I got… I went…" Mercurio's hand brushed against his side, and he pulled it away like he was stung by something. His tone dove towards hysterical. "What the hell is this lump? Is it my rib? Holy shit, is my rib poking through my side? I'm all numb.. You gotta look and tell me!

Dave moved closer slowly, afraid Mercurio would flinch away even then. "It's a broken bottle," he said, leaning back. "Seriously, what happened?"

"Goddamn chemist!" Mercurio spat. Dave took a step back. His anger seemed to give him new strength, at least. "Can't trust any operators in LA. I verified 'em, organization seemed reliable. Guy mixes up speed and his crew sells it, occasionally does explosives. I set up a drop. Should been nothin'."

He laughed bitterly, which turned into a groan halfway through. When he recovered he continued. "I show up at the beach with the money, right? Four of these guys, they come out of nowhere. Junkie pricks hit me with a bat!" He coughed. "Feels like I got a friggin' horse kickin it."

"Geez," Dave didn't know what else to say to that.

"Those cocksuckers! Beat me rotten and left me for a stiff. Had to crawl to my car, crawl my ass up here- the vamp blood's the only thing holding me together. But shit, they got the money, they got the Astrolite…"

The mention of vamp blood made Dave curiously, but it was probably a bad idea to get off the subject when Mercurio might not actually stay together. There was already a lot of blood smeared on the couch.

"Where are they?" Dave asked.

Mercurio's good eye rolled back toward the ceiling again, the swollen one was busy turning an odd shade of purple. "Those small-time sons of bitches live out in a dump on the beach. Four or five of 'em. The one's got the explosives is Dennis. Got my money too, that prick!"

"How do I get there?"

Mercurio looked away from the ceiling to glare at him. "Layin' in a pool of my own blood and you want friggin' directions!" He leaned back, closed his eye. "Right, okay- down the street, in the parking garage, stairs down to the beach… On the right, up the stairs… Those better not be some of my last words."

"Got it." Dave turned back towards the door. He was almost to it when his conscience got the better of him and he looked back. "Is there anything I can do to help you?"

"Yeah, if you could.. unhhh… ah, something just started leakin'. I need something for the pain."

"You sure you don't want me to call an ambulance?"

"_What?_ No! Don't even think about it. I got a record back east…" He trailed off, like he'd said to much. "Just bring me something back okay?"

"Okay," Dave said. He had no idea how he was going to find anything stronger than aspirin. He turned back towards the door.

"One more thing!" Mercurio called. Dave turned around again. "About the deal, I mean it… you tell anyone about this and I'm dead. I'm beggin' you. I got a way of getting people what they need. You don't say anything, I can help you out."

"Gotcha."

Dave followed Mercurio's directions, moving as quickly as could to the parking garage that would lead him to the beach. Every streetlight he passed under, every person he walked past, made him feel he wasn't safe, even when he was certain nobody could actually see him. A light rain had started almost as soon as he stepped outside, and by the time he made it to the garage entrance it had turned into a downpour. The noise followed him inside, and when he reach the exit that opened directly to the pier he saw the gate was closed and police cars were parked just outside. He heard voices beyond the gate, probably the cops, but all the noise from the rain made it difficult to make out what they were saying.

He heard, "Motherfucker was torn in two." Then another voice said, "I've seen worse." It was enough to make him creep closer to try and listen, but when the cop started his story he lowered his voice so that it was almost impossible to hear over the rain. Disappointed, Dave moved on to the stairwell. The last he heard of the conversation, just before he reached the tunnel leading to the beach, was the first cop laughing.

Surprisingly enough, the beach wasn't empty. A group of people were gathered around a fire burning in a barrel close to the surf. The flames motivated to Dave to keep his distance almost as much as the group did. None of them noticed, and he was starting to think he was getting good at this supernatural sneaking thing. Hell, he hadn't been half bad when he was alive, and back then he hadn't been able to hide in plain sight. Too bad he couldn't, he would have made a killing with pictures that way. He was still thinking of all the possibilities his newfound abilities offered when he reached the stairway up the cliff to the beach house. It was very tall, and very rusty, and it was built along the side of a sheer cliff.

He was okay for the first flight, but after that he closed his eyes and hugged the railing until he reached the top, where he found Grey in a living room full of dead people. It was funny in a really sick way, as he thought about it. Living room, dead people. He almost laughed.

That brought him back to the present, the wooden stairs digging into his back as he sat there. He hadn't been paying much attention to his surroundings, but if anybody tried to sneak up he would have seen them.

Unless they could hide like him. _That_ was a disturbing thought.

The door opened, letting out a beam of light that ruined his cover. Something was thrown over his head before he could turn around.


	10. Butterflies Complicate Things

**Chapter 10: Butterflies Complicate Things**

Grey felt he perhaps should have given Dave some warning before throwing the hooded sweatshirt over him, but he couldn't resist. He did not know what paths his old friend's mind had taken, but he suspected it had something to do with his unfortunate situation. He also couldn't blame him for failing to keep watch as he had asked, because he'd been certain from the moment he'd asked that no one would come. Fate was cruel, but not so cruel that it would draw others into the den before he could finish with its latest victims. _His_ victims, Grey corrected himself. Fate only tangled their paths together, the loss of control was all his fault. He still thought he should feel at least a little bad about that, though as he much as he waited nothing rose to trounce his conscience. He waited to feel the prick of thorns from it, but all he felt was the grim satisfaction that everything was well taken care of.

Dave pulled the sweatshirt off as though it were on fire, and Grey could not help but grin. It was just like old times, though he had long ago locked all of those memories deep within his mind. Those locks, even in the presence of Dave, still appeared to be holding, and Grey was glad. His other concerns slid away, leaving only the grim reminder, echoed over and over by the voices, that they should hurry.

Dave looked up at him, his sickly yellow eyes blinking in the light. "What'd you do that for?"

Grey gestured at the shirt. "The weather demands it, fickle tyrant that it is." Dave's appearance demanded it more than the weather, but it would be cruel of him to mention that.

"Oh," Dave said, and Grey knew he understood the full meaning by the way he frown. He tried to hide it, chasing it away with a smile that was horrid to look upon. "Thanks."

Grey stepped out onto the porch and pulled the door closed behind him, shutting away the scene he had carefully arranged in the living room. It was fortunate that Dave chose that same moment to pull the shirt on, otherwise he might have caught a glimpse of the bodies positioned on the couch, lifeless dolls arranged in a parody of normal activity. Fire already danced through Grey's mind, the images alone enough to make him tense. If they were going to catch up, it would have to be well away from here. Grey was not much for confessionals by firelight, especially after what he'd discovered in the back room. Dave looked back up to him, then past him to the closed door. Before he could open his mouth Grey slid the duffle bag from his shoulder and presented it to him.

"Your grail," he said simply. "Along with Mercury's silver."

Dave looked at him skeptically. Grey waited patiently as he opened the bag, watched as his were melted by the sight of the explosives and the envelope of money. "How did you know?"

"My mind drags me to very strange places," Grey said. "Like, for instance, the crawlspace behind the dryer."

"O-kay… Well, thanks."

Grey shook his head. It was futile, even when he laid things out as plainly as he could safely manage no one understood, not even Dave. The buzzing in his head was getting louder, more insistent, and so the time for conversation quickly dying. Grey walked down the stairs, assuming correctly that Dave would hurry to catch up.

"Hey, what about, uh, inside?"

"I have done my part, the rest is all science and chemistry. Not my best subjects, but we can hope."

It was true, all he'd done was rearrange the bodies and rejoice over the gas stove in the kitchen. He had washed all the blood from himself, searched in vain for his sunglasses in the wreckage, and helped himself to clothes the previous wearers had no more use of. He was not a fan of Hawaiian shirts, but he couldn't hope for much from the domain of those addicted to surf and chemicals. Just as he did not feel sorry for what he'd done, he could not feel completely clean. That might change once the gas was set off. Fire would, he hoped, burn away the lingering ties to his hand, absolving him of that delusion if nothing else. He walked quickly, not wishing to have that and everything else burned away with their lingering. Dave stopped when they reached the top of the stairs hugging the cliff, his fear rooting him in place just beyond the first rusting metal step. Grey looked back to the house as the knowledge there were just as many explosives in the house as drugs clawed insistently at his mind. He reached over and roughly pulled the hood over Dave's head before he could offer any feeble apology for his reluctance to descend.

"Take my hand," Grey said, his voice betraying his agitation. "I will need it back at the bottom."

"But there's people down there!"

Grey grabbed Dave's hand with his good one and began to pull him down the stairs. "People who are just like us, if somewhat watered down."

"What?"

Grey grimaced, glanced away, then looked back and he decided he would have to try and explain. He fully intended to make it simple despite himself, but the moment he opened his mouth the words were twisted. When he spoke, they were no longer his own. "A great wave rises. We are in its shadow now, though few realize it. When it breaks, and we are all swept beneath it, _they_ will be the ones who stay afloat, who rise above. The rest of us will be dragged into the Abyss, weighted by our own blood. So it must be."

Dave looked at him blankly. Grey pulled a little harder on his arm, hard enough that it would likely be pulled out of its socket if he didn't come along. "Just move!"

The force of his words spurred Dave into action. Bit by bit, his trepidation subsided with each flight of stairs they rounded. His grip, however, remained tight enough that Grey began to fear he would be left with two useless hands by the time they reached the bottom. He said nothing of it, mainly because he did not want to risk going through the explanation of why his other had been reduced to its present useless state. A few more nights, a bit more blood, and that would be a memory, another bauble on the chain of unpleasant experiences Grey had collected over the years. At long last they touched earth again, and when Dave released his hand Grey surreptitiously tested it to confirm that it was still of use. He felt the eyes of the thin bloods fall upon them as they began to make their way through the sand, each of them wary. Only one was knowing, he'd have to be careful of that one.

Dave began to fall behind as he returned their stares, forcing Grey to fall back and push him ahead.

"What's the rush?" Dave asked.

"My show's almost on."

"How can you think about TV at a time like this?"

Grey thought of the TV in the beach house, its screen shattered and sparking. How much longer could they have? "It's hard not to."

They had almost reached the tunnel that would take them away from the beach when a flicker of movement drew Grey's eye to the pier. Something was standing at the top of the stairs leading up, watching them both. Grey grabbed Dave by the shoulder to make him stop.

Dave looked back. "What now?"

Grey, already feeling foolish, was forced to point towards the stairs with his mangled hand. "Tell me what you see. Please."

He could see little of Dave's expression from the shadows that gathered under his hood, but then that was why Grey had selected it for him. With a click of his tongue, Dave turned back to look at the stairs. "Huh," he said. "Looks like some kind of big dog."

"A big dog," Grey echoed, a manic giggle escaping with the words. "Yes, that's likely all it is. Forget I asked."

They both watched as the 'dog' turned away. Grey was quite certain it was a wolf, not a dog, but he said nothing of it. When it was gone, Grey continued on into the tunnel. Dave followed him like an ugly puppy. When they reached the stairs Grey thought he heard the distant sound of an explosion, but it could have been his own anticipation fooling him, providing it too soon. Or maybe not.

"What was that?" Dave said.

"There's no telling," Grey replied. "Keep moving."

He'd said far too much of things that should not be discussed already, and he was afraid that Dave would ask what he had meant about the deluge if it wasn't given sufficient time to dwindle from memory. Grey glanced back, but as Dave was walking with his head bowed the gesture was lost. Grey looked ahead as they climbed the stairs. He could not stand the thought of laying it all out for him, if it was even possible, so why had it slipped?

"Because _you're_ slipping, idiot," Paul's voice whispered. Grey grit his teeth to keep from responding.

Dave stopped at the stop of the stairs. "Hey, Grey?"

He turned back to face him. Dave had lifted his head just enough to allow the sallow light of the parking garage to illuminate his face. It was not flattering. Grey tried not to wince as he said, "Yes?"

Dave looked down at his feet. "Look, I know we only just met back up- and it's been weird already- but can I ask you a favor?"

He wanted to tell him what a foolish thing that was to ask a Kindred, even him, but instead he said, "Always." His tongue was proving very treacherous that evening.

"The guy I- uh, I mean you- got this stuff for? He's hurt pretty bad. I mean _really_ bad. Do you think…"

"I could get something to make him float above the pain on a merry cloud of numbness?"

"Uh… If by that you mean morphine or something, sure."

Grey nodded. "I will do this thing."

"Great, thanks." Dave smiled, showing far too many teeth. Grey could not keep himself from glancing away. The hurt radiated of Dave in a wave that stung Grey even from the polite distance between them. "His place is down the street, number 24," Dave continued, trying too obviously to hide what he felt. "Meet me there when you're done?"

Grey nodded without another word.

"Cool. See ya then."

When Grey looked back, Dave was gone. He blinked, impressed by how quickly he had learned such a trick. He had been dead some five years now, and he'd never been able to get the shadows to listen to him. Remembering the vision from the theatre, he doubted he would ever want that now. No, he had too much to hide as it was, he couldn't very well hide his entire being from sight, much as he might wish it at times. As Grey turned to set forth on his quest, he thought he caught a flicker of movement. If it was Dave, he did not feel so bold to peer through his illusion. If it wasn't… He decided to keep his eyes ahead and his mind on the task. His eyes cooperated.

Once one escaped the traps placed for tourists, Santa Monica proved to be a fairly small town, or at least that was how Grey perceived the place. He didn't particularly like Santa Monica, there were too many painful memories there, and as much as he tried to keep them down the echoes were always there to haunt him. On top of that, there were things that always dragged him back. First it was Cheryl, now Dave was one too, more evidence that Fate was a cruel bitch that had it out for him. It was not a long walk to the 24-hour clinic, but with every step Grey grew more acutely aware that the night was quickly dying. He did not know how he would find the drugs Dave needed, much less how he would obtain them. As he stepped through the front door he regretted thinking of Fate as a cruel bitch, that would only encourage more malice.

There were not many chairs in the waiting room, but each of them contained a body. Grey looked at each of them in turn and despaired to think the same illness that was seeping through downtown LA had spread. The only remotely fit amongst the lot was an old woman standing in the corner. _Her_ illness, Grey recognized immediately, was all in her head. Her arms were wrapped tightly around her too-thin chest, her fingers dug into the fabric of the ghastly, faded print of flowers and butterflies on her shapeless dress. She looked at everything as though it were unclean, but her ire was mainly focused on the nurse behind the counter. Grey followed her gaze, watching as the nurse sorted through papers, and then slowly he turned back to the old woman. He wanted very badly to touch her, to see if some spark passed between them in response to a like affliction. He had just begun to reach out when something wondrous happened.

The butterflies on the women's dress broke free of their faded prison, their colors becoming vibrant as they took flight. Grey pulled his hand back. If he touched them, he was certain, they would crumble beneath his fingers. So he stood back, and he watched, as the butterflies swarmed together, tumbling in a drunken arc towards the hallway that lead to the many rooms of pain and sorrow that filled the place. He had to follow.

He made it as far as the desk before the nurse stopped him. "Please, sir," she said. "You'll have to wait your turn."

Grey looked back to the hall, the butterflies were leaving him behind. He glanced back to the woman and forced a smile. "I'm bringing a friend a few things." He surprised himself by how earnest he sounded, how normal.

"I told you before," Paul's voice said. "You don't have to talk like a fucking lunatic. It's all in your head."

Grey's smile became more strained. To retort would be to ruin everything. The woman eyed him skeptically, then at last she sighed and said, "Okay, just be quick about it."

Grey murmured something that he hoped sounded like an affirmative and hurried down the hall, making it just time to see the butterflies turn and disappear through a closed door. He stopped before it as saw bright swirls of color on the wood where they had passed through. A quick glance back down the hall confirmed that no one, not even the lovely woman who had inspired this vision, was watching him. He opened the door and slipped inside. The first thing he saw was a red-haired girl lying on the gurney. She was young- college aged- and bleeding from a stab wound in her abdomen. Her eyes were closed as she quietly sobbed to herself. Tears were collecting in the lenses of her glasses.

"Oh, that's nice." Paul's voice ripped Grey's attention from the girl. His other half was leaning against a counter across the room. He held his hand out in front of him, allowing one of the butterflies to rest and fan its wings on him. Both of _his_ hands were whole, just as his skin was as tan as the night he died. The others were in a swarm in the middle of the room, directly above the room. "So as an encore you're going to stand there and watch this chick die, am I right?"

"No," Grey said.

"Okay, then what _are_ you going to do, killer?"

Grey glared at him as he took a step forward, then another, so that he was standing directly over the dying girl.

"Oh please," Paul sneered. "You don't have that much compassion left in you."

Grey raised his right hand to his face, putting his lips to his wrist. Never taking his eyes off Paul, he bit down. He looked away from him only as blood began to well in the self-inflicted wound. His ruined fingers flopped uselessly over the back of his hand, but he wouldn't need them for what he meant to do. He used his left arm to prop the girl up. Her eyes opened, but they were unable to focus on anything, much less the bloodied wrist Grey pressed to her lips. After the first swallow she became more lively. She grabbed on to his arm, pressed it closer, and Grey was forced to pull away. She fell back against the gurney with a sigh. Grey began to slip backwards toward the door, but the girl looked over to him before he could make it. The light was back in her eyes, and Grey knew- though he had never had the inclination to make a ghoul before- that she would survive from what little vitae he had given her

"Who…?" the girl whispered, not so recovered that she could form full sentences yet.

Grey shook his head and put his fingers to his lips. "I'm am merely your angel of mercy. My work here is done."

Paul's laughter filled the room. When Grey looked up he had already vanished again. His voice lingered long enough to say, "One good deed's not gonna save you."

The butterflies swarmed towards the door, and once again Grey was robbed of the chance to say something in his defense. They swirled around him, through him, and back into the hallway. With one parting glance to the girl, who appeared to be resting peacefully, he stepped out to follow them. He did not have far to go. The butterflies led him around the corner, past a pair of glass double doors, to the very end of the hall. The all alighted on the plaque bearing the names of the clinic's many illustrious supporters. Grey moved close to try and see what they were covering, but there were so many that he could make out none of the names. He was about to demand to know what they were getting at when a door to his left open.

The sound caused all but one of the butterflies to evaporate. The last survivor, its colors quickly dulling back to that of the faded fabric it had been culled from, weakly drifted towards the door as a large black man in surgical scrubs stepped out. His name was Malcolm, as the plaque beside the door said. Grey turned back to the other plaque, the ones with many other names, before the doctor could see him. Malcolm was, fortunately enough, in too much of a hurry to take notice of him, but Grey pretended to be deeply interested with the list of names anyway. When Malcolm had passed, Grey slipped to the side and caught the door before it could close. The butterfly resting on the door knob evaporated in that same instant. A bottle of morphine were lying on the doctor's desk. Fate was, perhaps, not as cruel as Grey thought. She had her moments, if nothing else. Though the computer humming on the desk was a great temptation to sift though, he grabbed the bottle and hurried out. He rounded the corner and passed the room of the girl he'd saved without slowing. She would be better off never knowing who had saved her, and so would he. Grey paused at the lobby only long enough to offer his thanks in the general direction of the woman. She cursed at him, but his thanks had not been for her. Feeling much better about himself, Grey stepped back out into the night.

He found no sign of Dave at the building he was told to meet at, just a bloodstain in front of the door that was dry and brown. He stepped around it and was surprised that the door, likewise caked with blood, opened when he tried the handle. Luxury apparently did not afford all that much security. Dave appeared the moment he stepped inside the hallway, startling a shocked cry out of him.

"Sorry," Dave said, taking a step back. "I forgot."

He was still wearing the hoodie Grey had given him, but even with the hood pulled up there was no helping the surprise of someone appearing out of nowhere. Things appeared before Grey's eyes all the time, just like butterflies, and he never ceased to be amazed or disturbed by them. He held the bottle of morphine out and Dave took it, the sensation of his fingers brushing of Grey's hand was almost enough to make him shudder. He was going to have to get used to such if he was going to stay with him. He never actually made the decision to help him, he realized, he had just done it as readily as though there hadn't been a gaping five year hole between their last interactions. He remembered, out of nowhere, that Dave's last words to him, all those years ago, had been 'bring me back a taco'. Grey shook his head. He did not want to think about that night. The voices teased him about that, promising him that one night he would have to. Grey was thankful Paul's was not amongst them. He had reached the point he could almost endure being taunted by anything but himself, though the incident at the beach house had been a bad mark against him.

"Are you okay?" Dave asked.

"I was adrift in time for a moment… You should make your delivery. I will wait here."

"Alright…" Dave took a step back, watching him uncertainly. "I'll be right back."

Grey nodded and leaned against the wall, admiring the many patterns in the dried blood spattering the hall. Someone was going to have to clean that up, but until then Grey was free to search for anything of meaning in them. He found nothing of any use, but his mind was perhaps torn in too many different directions to pick them out. Dave was Kindred, Dave was Nosferatu, and try as he might to deny it Dave's fate had been in his hands from the moment he had seen him writhing in that motel room. He was obligated to try and help him, he should have recognized that from the beginning. But then, was he really qualified to nurse any breed of fledgling, even one that had been a friend in life? Just the thought of trying to explain the finer points of their condition made him cringe.

"You could always try just saying it plainly," Paul's voice whispered. "Like a normal person."

"I have never been normal," Grey snapped.

"Uh, Grey?"

He looked up. Dave had returned, and he was started to recognize the look on his twisted face as the one universally given to all those of unquiet minds. He hated that look. The only laughter inside his head in that moment, the only voice, was Paul's. He gladly would have taken any and all of the others. Trying to ignore it, Grey forced a smile. "Done?"

"Yeah, I've gotta go talked to some woman about calling off a feud now, but that's gonna have to wait until tomorrow. It's getting really late. Or early. You know what I mean."

Grey barely heard him. The mention of the lateness of the hour buried a cold sliver of panic into his chest. He would never be able to make it downtown before the sun rose. The image of himself, meeting his demise in the backseat of cab, immediately burned itself into his mind. "Late," he said. "It's too late."

Where would he go? Where could he safely rest?

His answer came when Dave put his hand on his shoulder. "Hey, um, my place is next door, if you're worried about holing up somewhere."

Grey laughed. "You read my mind." He could have hugged Dave, but that would mean making contact with all the interesting little pustules that congregated on his back.

"All you have to do is go a little ways down the street and turn down the alley. Door's at the end. I'll, y'know, sneak over."

Grey nodded and opened the door, conspicuously holding it open for longer than was necessary. He stepped out on to the street, finding it empty in the lull between night dwellers and those who were just waking up. The sky was already lightening, twisting the knife in his chest so that he moved quickly down the street. Dave's place, it turned out, was situated above a pawn shop. The establishment truly spared no expense on their little investment. Grey opened the side door and stepped inside. Dave shuffled in out of nowhere right behind him. "Damn," Dave said. "I didn't realize it was getting that close to dawn."

"There is some sand left, yet," Grey said, but no sooner than the words were out of his mouth he was proven wrong. Lethargy washed over him, made his knees buckle, but it was too soon for that. He blinked, but there was little use fighting it. He felt Dave's arm slide around him, keeping him from falling even though it meant being pulled close to him. He felt his cold breath on his face as he spoke.

"Grey? What's wrong?"

"Tired," was all Grey could muster before he was dragged under, sooner than he ever remembered, into the day's oblivion. He never thought to try and fight it.


	11. Moving Right Along

**Chapter 11: Moving Right Along**

Dave had to grab Grey with both arms to keep him from falling to the floor. He'd gone limp almost as soon as he said he was tired. Dave was, for just a moment, terrified that somehow he'd misjudged the time and sunrise had already come, but he didn't feel tired at all. He felt a weird, kind of edgy feeling knowing he'd have to get somewhere safe soon, but not tired. He tried to shake Grey a little, just to see if he could at least get him to carry himself up the stairs, but he was as good as dead in his arms. That made sense, he guessed, but it also made things incredibly awkward.

He swung Grey's legs up so he could carry him up to the apartment. He was surprised at how light he felt, but it could have had something to do with him being gone for the day. Under any other circumstances it would have looked like he was carrying a drunken friend home, but nobody was going to be able to get past the way Dave looked to ever think that. He took the stairs one by one, as slowly and quietly as he could manage. He stopped at every door and listened, but couldn't hear anyone moving around. If there was anyone else living in the building they were probably the type that slept 'til noon before they went to pick up a welfare check, but he still couldn't shake the nagging fear of being discovered. With every step up Grey's boneless right hand brushed against Dave's side, making him wish he could safely hurry. Funny that a little thing like that would bother him, considering, but it did. A lot.

It took three tries to get the door open. Dave almost dropped Grey on the second, but he made it in. He looked to the clock on the wall and decided it had taken about five minutes to get up the stairs, making it five minutes since Grey had collapsed. A cockroach scurried out from underneath the clock just as he finished with calculation, reminding Dave of how much he hated the place. He laid Grey down on the bed, but as soon as he did he was faced with a new problem. He knew that, like Grey, he'd probably be completely unaware of anything during the day, but he still didn't want to take his chances on the floor. Anything else living in the apartment could spend all day crawling over him if he slept there, maybe even to find its way inside. He couldn't stand the thought bugs setting up shop in his body, even if it was a train wreck. The bed probably didn't reduce the chances of that happening all that much, but he could fool himself into thinking it did. Dave pushed Grey over, closer to the wall.

"Don't take this the wrong way or anything," Dave said, crawling onto the bed. There was barely enough room for the two of them, but if he was lucky he'd be up before Grey too.

Dave rolled over on his side, putting his back to Grey, so he could watch the clock and count the minutes until he fell asleep. He wished he could feel at least a little sleepy before it happened, instead of just getting sucked under when it happened.

Thirty minutes, that's how much Grey was off by. _That's odd_, Dave thought, and then he was out.

Grey was still asleep when he woke up. Dave had a feeling it would be another half hour before Grey rejoined him. He decided to check his e-mail in the meantime. There was nothing new, but as he looked at the address listed he remembered that it was the account that had been set up for him, not the one he'd used before he died. It wouldn't take much to open a browser window and look, but that would be too weird. All of that, even his old undeleted spam and newsletters, felt like it was lost to him. Besides that, the people who'd be nice enough to set the place up for him probably had some way to monitor everything he did on their crappy laptop.

Dave tried to decipher the fancy invitation left on the desk again, but the thing about finding the sender where the mystical sun burned still made no sense to him. It didn't sound like he'd ever be able to find him. He tossed the card aside and stood back up, feeling something in his pocket brush against his side as he did. His camera, of course. He took it out and slid the cover back, wondering what might have happened to all his other equipment. Just like his e-mail, it might still be possible for him to go back to his old apartment and see if anything was left, but that would definitely be too much to handle. If he'd been trapped in that room as long as he thought then he'd probably been declared legally dead already. His family would have come in to pick through his belongings, probably to auction over the internet for crazily low prices. All his stuff, all of his really good camera equipment, would be gone. The landlord would have wasted no time once they were through to put the place back up for rent. All Dave would have to do was check the paper to confirm that much, but he still didn't want to know.

Part of him- that stupid, whimsical part of him- wanted to pretend that David Kim was still out there somewhere, still making a living off the star's most embarrassing moments. But that was stupid, the self-proclaimed ninja was dead, and all that was really left of him were the first few pictures in the camera's memory. If he really wanted to get over himself and move on, he would have just deleted the pictures right away, completely wipe the memory card and save the batteries for something he might need later. Instead Dave sat on the edge of the bed, flipping through the pictures again and again. The first few were of his reflection in his old bathroom mirror. His eyes were on the camera, just like they were with every idiot who had to use a mirror to take a picture of themselves. His hair was short, and spiky, and in retrospect he always put too much gel in it to keep in that way. He'd always thought of his face as too bland for comment, and all his acquaintances pretty much confirmed that when they could only ever describe him as 'that Asian guy' or 'that guy, I think he's Chinese'. Dave had given up on correcting people since before he was out of high school. You were Chinese or you were Japanese, people never guessed Korean on the first try. Not like it mattered anymore. The next three pictures were more of the same, him trying to be cool about taking a picture in the mirror or at arm's length, like it wasn't totally pathetic to have no one to take them for you.

"Don't dwell on it," he told himself. He wasn't even sure which part he meant, all he knew was the silence in the room was getting to him. It was a bad sign to be talking to yourself, and just thinking about it made him glance back to Grey.

He put the camera down long enough to stand and turn the TV on. The bent antennae sticking out from the back was enhanced by a piece of tinfoil, which allowed it to barely pick up the local stations. The picture was terrible and the bursts of static occasionally interrupted the sound, but it was something. He had the option of the radio on the kitchen counter, but that would only make him think of the weird cab ride after the theatre incident. He didn't even want to think about that, but there he was, torturing himself with the stupid camera. Picking and choosing what he wanted to fuck up his emotional state with gave him a warped feeling of control, something he really needed after being tied up and dragged around for the past week.

He sat back down and continued looking through the pictures. The fifth photo was nothing but a vanity shot, still one of him taking a picture in the mirror, but that time without a shirt. He'd always thought having a great body could make up for the average Asian looks, but thinking about it now only made him laugh. He hit the options button, and the little trash bin icon was there, ready and waiting to wipe away those images forever. All he'd have to do was hit OK, and then he could start forgetting about himself. Instead he hit cancel and kept cycling through the pictures. Who was he kidding? He wished he'd thought to take more pictures of himself, but all he had left were five shots he'd taken just to test the camera and flatter himself. The quality of the photos got much better after that, but it wasn't of anything he wanted to see. There was the street outside of his old apartment at daytime, where one of the cars on the street had its front window smashed. There were tourists in Hollywood, also in the daytime, paying no attention to where they were going as they focused on the walk of fame. There was Mr. Benz, glaring drunkenly at the camera, a whole series of shots that Dave couldn't have given away to tabloids. And the final picture, the one Dave had taken before moving on to the bar where he'd met that damn woman, was of some Hispanic girl's ass, taken from across the room as she leaned over the bar. He was already drunk when he'd taken the picture, easy prey. He'd set himself up.

"Great way to end things, man," Dave said.

He cycled back to the beginning of the pictures, back to who he used to be. He really had to get over it, but not just yet. He didn't know how long he sat there, going back and forth between those five pictures, but he was snapped out of it when he heard the bedsprings squeak. Dave turned the camera off just as Grey rolled over.

"Morning," Dave said, looking over his shoulder. Good evening sounded way too Bella Lugosi.

Grey looked incredibly disoriented. Dave couldn't blame him. He took the opportunity to slip the camera back in his pocket while Grey was soaking up the atmosphere. The way his head very slowly turned back to him when he was done was too creepy for words.

"How long?" Grey asked.

"You mean like how long have I been up?"

"That works too."

Dave glanced at the clock. He was right about the time. "About a half hour, why?"

"Oh." The way Grey stared ahead after that was like he'd just been told he had cancer. Dave leaned forward and nudged his shoulder. He jerked back when Grey started laughing.

"Uh, Grey?"

He didn't answer, at least night right away. It took a few seconds for the laughter to stop. Grey's shoulders sagged when it did. He wouldn't look at Dave. Instead he was way too intent on the closest mystery stain on the mattress. Dave leaned close enough to see that Grey's eyes were wavering back and forth a lot, like he was thinking hard about something. He leaned so close that when Grey jerked his head towards the kitchen he nearly fell off the bed.

"How can I when I can find no purchase?" Grey snapped at the refrigerator.

"Purchase?" Dave echoed. It was that or try asking if he had a problem with appliances.

Grey's head jerked back to him. His eyes were wide, like he'd been caught at something very embarrassing. They stared at each other for what seemed like a long time. Dave was starting to doubt if taking Grey in had been such a great idea after all. He really should have just turned and ran the moment he saw him in the beach house, but instead he had to get all sentimental. It was stupid to even think things would be exactly the same as before, like the last five years hadn't even happened.

"Just forget it," Grey said. Dave was a little surprised to see he was addressing him.

"It's kinda hard to," Dave said. The look Grey gave him froze him, but his lips kept going. "Seriously, what happened to you, Grey?"

"You wouldn't understand," Grey said. He lay back down on the mattress. "No one understands. No one can see what I truly mean, no matter what I say."

Dave rolled his eyes. "So why don't you try? I mean, we're still friends, right? And we're both va- _Kindred_- so we can talk about this stuff, can't we?"

Grey was silent. The TV droned on, saving them from total silence with static-filled commercials for oven cleaner and new cars. When Grey sat up again he looked resigned.

"Each of us is twice cursed," he said. He used his good hand to hold up two fingers. "The founders of our lines were, in their own ways, naughty children who angered the Dark Father enough to be cursed by him. _His_ curses persist as much as that which was meant to be his alone. They have been passed down through the ages, one for every clan- for every Antediluvian. But now the lines are growing too thin to support so much as the one. Strange things happen there, where the line is thinnest… Very strange, unsettling things."

Dave listened, barely understanding any of what Grey was saying. As grim as he sounded, it was still hard to understand, but Dave had one thing he could understand and cling to. "I know about clans having their own curse and all."

Grey looked like he'd been slapped in the face. "How? Who told you?"

Dave felt gratified he knew at least a little bit about things. "This guy named Jack. He met me outside the theatre, helped me sneaked past the Sabbat when they attacked."

"_Jack_ helped you?"

"Uh, yeah. Do you know him?"

Grey looked to the board covering the window beside the bed. "Perhaps better than I actually do."

"What?"

"Sometimes my thoughts are not entirely my own," Grey said, reaching out to trace his finger across a scratch in the wood.

"Oh. Okay." Dave decided it was pointless to try and get him to elaborate on stuff like that. "So what's your clan?"

"I am Malkavian," Grey said. His eyes lost focus, like a war veteran thinking back on some horrible experience. "Our curse is that we see too much, know too much. From the very moment we die, we are exposed to something vast and terrible. It breaks us, some more than others, so that we can never be whole again. It's something no words can describe. Something you can only understand by being broken in the same way. I wouldn't wish that on anyone."

There was probably a much simpler way to describe that, and Dave was pretty sure he knew how, but he was afraid to say it out loud.

Grey picked up on it anyway. "It's true," he said, fixing his eyes on Dave. He smiled, so quickly it was more like a muscle spasm. "We're all mad."

It was probably a coincidence that Grey seemed to know exactly what he was thinking, but the really scary thing was Dave had no idea what vampires- any vampire- were capable of. Hiding was apparently his only real talent, and that seemed to be enough, but what about all the stories? Bats and mist and mind control, he really should have thought about that sooner. Grey had fallen silent again, thinking about god knew what, and Dave would feel stupid trying to broach the subject after he admitted something like that. He would have felt even more stupid trying to saying something in response. It sucked, but then so did his own curse. At least Grey still looked human, even if he was crazy.

Another round of commercials was finishing up on the TV. Dave hadn't even noticed what show was playing, but the snippet of the local news station's theme grabbed his attention. He looked over his shoulder to see the smiling face of Kurt Tucker peer. The color on the TV was off, making Kurt look green. "Tonight on Channel Six, police investigate a possible connection between last night's gas explosion at a Santa Monica home and a brutal murder on the pier. Also, a special report on seven common household items that could kill you and your family. Join us for these stories and more tonight at eleven."

Dave turned back at Grey just as the screen faded back to a sitcom rerun. "You blew up the house!"

Grey held up his hands, like Dave was silly for thinking it was a bad thing. "It was all I could do."

"You're not responsible for the thing on the pier, are you?"

"The wolf?"

"What wolf? I mean the murder!"

Grey shook his head. "Before I was redecorating the house I was making my way there. What I found is what allowed the Beast to slip its leash. I could only manage on atrocity in one night."

"This sort of thing doesn't happen often, or does it?" Dave asked. He probably should have asked what Grey found, but it was too late for that. There were a hell of a lot of things he meant to ask, and should have asked, but the opportunities kept slipping away before he even realized they were there. So much for getting answers.

"At times there's nothing to be done to stop it." Grey gave him a somber look. "You'll see. That much you can come to understand."

It was time to change the subject again. Dave put both hands to his head. It didn't feel right, but then he remembered his hair was gone as his fingers were a freakish mess. "Okay, look, we really can't spend all night sitting here talking." He moves his hands from his head to his knees and squeezed. He still needed new jeans, but he had to focus. "I've gotta go see some woman about calling off a feud."

"What woman is this?"

"Mercurio said her name's Therese." The look of recognition mixed with horror on Grey's face made Dave turn the rest into questions for some reason. "She runs a club across town? Called the Asylum?"

"I know the place," Grey said, his voice sounding faint. He was staring past Dave again. "But what of the feud?"

"I don't know much about it." Dave stood up and started the pace the room. He felt Grey's eyes following him the whole way. "See, I'm really supposed to be seeing this guy Bertram Tung, but he's in hiding because of something he did to piss Therese off or something like that."

"I can only imagine," Grey muttered.

"Yeah, so, I've gotta try and convince Therese to call off the feud before I can get with Tung. After that, I don't really know."

Dave turned back to face Grey, but once again he looked out of it. Dave figured he was just going to have to get used to that if they were going to stick together. He was just starting to wonder if that was really the best thing when Grey looked up at him. "There's too much fire in your future. I wouldn't want you walking through it alone."

"It can't be that bad."

"You're going to stand before a terrible goddess, the dark daughter of Janus, with no offering. Besides that, you may find it hard to enter her domain unseen without help."

"So how are we gonna do this?"

Grey stood up. "I'll explain on the way."

"Whoa, wait!" Dave shot to his feet. "I can't just walk with you down the street!"

"No one has to see you as I explain," Grey said, opening the door.

Dave nervously followed after him. No one was in the hall, but he still couldn't relax. "Don't you think it'll look weird if people see you talking to nothing?"

Grey stopped at the foot of the stairs and turned back to look at him. Then he laughed.

"Oh," Dave said. "Sorry."

Grey shook his head. "I don't need your pity any more than you need mine. Your collection will rival my own before long." He started down the stairs, and as Dave followed he added, "For now, worry about the daughters of Janus."

"Daughters?" Dave asked. "But I only have to speak with Therese."

He couldn't see Grey's expression, but it sounded like he was still close to laughter when he said, "Oh yes, I know, but you can't have one without the other. Or maybe you can. We shall see."

At the bottom of the stairs Grey opened the door out and gestured that Dave go ahead. He didn't look at him, so Dave guessed that was his cue to do his thing. Once he stepped outside, all he could do was try and keep up and stay out of sight. All his questions would have to wait for later.


	12. A Little Revelation

**Chapter 12: A Little Revelation**

The streets were wet from a storm that had passed sometime while Grey lay senseless, whether during the day or the half hour that had been stolen for him. The night was cold enough to let the remnants linger at little long, the dying puddles turned to pools of light that would dwindle to nothing before it was over. He made a point of stepping in as many as he could as he walked, savagely obliterating whatever images they offered up to him. The air was still heavy with the promise of more rain in the near future. He could feel it weighing his tongue with every breath he drew to explain things, making him wish he had not offered to go with Dave through his first ordeal. The doubt was trampled by Paul's voice in his ear, wryly asking him how many times he planned on throwing his friend to the wolves. Grey ignored it and kept speaking, hoping what he said made at least some sense. Dave was his warped shadow, following close on his heels just as he had been instructed. The only thing holding back a flood of questions, Grey knew, was that to do so would shatter the veil that kept Dave hidden from mortal sight. Grey, meanwhile, could catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of his eye when he wanted, but there was a part of him that was afraid to break the illusion with his own eyes would reveal it to all others. So he kept his glances to Dave sidelong as the words for proper etiquette before the sisters poured from his mouth. In the end, no matter how roundabout his explanations became, the gist was to avoid doing and saying stupid. Grey only hoped Dave could break it down to those fundamentals.

As they neared the corner where the line to get in began, Grey turned his lecture to even more immediate concerns.

"When we enter," he said. "You must be the rat you have become and stay to the walls. Crawl forward, even if I am detained, and wait for me at the path to ascension. I will catch up and see us through to their domain. You, meanwhile, should wait and digest all I have fed you."

Curious gazes from the line turned to Grey as he finished speaking. The hopeful revelers that were present every night scowled, recognizing him as the lunatic who blithely drifted to the front at will. None had even been so bold as to ask him to help them, but the perfume of fear and disdain that hung around them were all he needed to know why. Trusting Dave was with him, however bemused he may be, Grey rounded the corner, passing by the portion of the line that might actually see the inside of the temple of noise. The bouncer had moved aside before Grey even had the chance to give him a meaningful look, and no words were spoken, even from the jilted first in line, as Grey moved past him and into the club. Dave pressed too closely to him as they slipped past the door, and Grey could almost feel it his trick of the mind dissolved. The door slid closed, leaving them alone in the alcove before the club proper. The walls were covered with posters from bands that had come again, perhaps to glory, perhaps to break up not long after darkening Asylum's stage. Dave, not realizing there was no one around to see them, clung tightly to Grey and buried his face in his chest.

"Dave," Grey said, forced to lower his head to keep the words from being swallowed by music. "The only other eyes on you are paper."

Dave looked up slowly, the shadows cast by his hood concealing everything above his slash of a nose.

"Slip away," Grey said, gesturing to the arch beyond. "Before any young Bacchantes stumble upon us. They'd think all the wrong things, you know."

Dave nodded and stepped back. The only means Grey had of reading his embarrassment was in the hue his aura flushed with. He felt almost as guilty for looking as he did for not being able to read his face.

"Remember what I poured upon you," Grey said. "I'll meet you and we'll rise together, if only to be laid low before the Goddess."

Dave gave him another barely readable look, one Grey had come to recognize as confusion. Grey turned to step out into the fray, and Dave obediently became nothing but a flicker in the corner of his eye again.

He made it five paces into the room before one of his fears for the visit came to pass.

"Kitten!"

Jeanette's excited call rose above the music, striking Grey like a physical blow to the gut. He winced, and Jeanette rushed towards him before he could finish twisting the grimace into a smile. There was the added barb of knowing Dave was somewhere watching as she threw her arms around him, pressing herself close just so he could fully appreciate the feeling of her breasts mashed against his chest. The intimate contact didn't stir him quite like it used to, but the sheer force of her presence was enough to weigh his tongue and hold him still as she pressed her lips on his cheek. Years ago they had shared many things, more than he would have allowed had he been a wiser man, and the echoes of it still did terrible things to his senses. The stolen warmth she passed along with her touch evaporated the instant she pulled back, but he could still feel it where she'd branded him with her lurid shade of lipstick. He still felt frozen as she put her head on his shoulder.

"Therese told me you whispered naughty things in her ear," Jeanette said. She pulled back just enough to look at him. "You should have waited for me."

The pout on her over made-up face was just another accessory to her naughty school girl outfit, a parody of innocence as was every other aspect. He couldn't believe it, couldn't be taken by it, and most of all he couldn't let himself reveal he had not come alone, at least not yet. But even as he tried to steel himself Grey found his treacherous eyes moving away from Jeanette to search out Dave. He forced them back to her and put all his effort into keeping them on her face.

"The news I had," he began. The rest of the words caught in his throat as he saw annoyance assume dominance over Jeanette's deranged porcelain doll features. "It would spoil quickly if not passed along for preservation," he finished quickly, his voice so soft it was nearly devoured by the music that filled the club.

Jeanette smiled and leaned close again. She ran her fingers through her hair as she said, "But _I _never kiss and tell, you know that."

"There wasn't any kissing involved," Grey said, finding it hard to concentrate. "There's no sense in kissing a cold fish."

"I know you'd never do that, Kitten," Jeanette said, leaning yet even closer so that one bleached pigtail lolled against his face. "But you also know I'd never run off and tell dirty little secrets to LaCroix, either."

Grey had barely opened his mouth to protest when he felt Jeanette's tongue trace a cold line just behind his ear. To draw breath meant taking in the flowery scent of her shampoo in the same instant he licked him, and combined they made the words he was about to utter dissolve on his tongue. He should have felt disgusted, should have known that cultivating any emotion would have been preferable to lust in Jeanette's presence. And every time he thought himself incapable of such a thing, she always did something to prove him wrong. It was a bad time to be reminded. He closed his eyes, tried to coax any other feeling out to bury it, but when Jeanette stepped back it was too late. She smiled as she looked at him.

"Oh look," she said. "It's my favorite color."

The words were barely past her bruise-colored lips when Grey felt sparks of desire fanned into a terrible inferno. The knowledge that it was all her doing, that he had missed that spot of blood in his cleaning, were consumed in the flames. He leaned forward to kiss her, but she put a hand to his face to stop him, to torture him.

He could see her smirking from between her fingers. "You've been a bad kitty."

He couldn't speak, couldn't even realize that when he reached for her he only had one good hand to do it with. Jeanette didn't notice, she was too absorbed in watching the look on his face as she held him back.

"It's alright, kitten," Jeanette said, reaching out to trail and finger down his cheek. "Unlike _Therese_, I'd never tell."

She slid her hand up, past his face, to sweep his hair back with her fingers ."I'd just hate for you to get too feral to play with."

"Now?" he asked, the word coming out in a desperate, utterly pathetic moan. He couldn't keep himself from pawing at her just like the creature she had deemed him. "Can't we play now?"

Jeanette giggled and took another step away, just out of reach, creating an unbearable chasm between them. "Silly Kitten," she said. "You've been away so long. I don't even have any milk left for you. You just stand here and think about all you've been missing while I go take care of business, m'kay?"

She patted his cheek and turned away, and in agony he watched her leave him for the elevator. Every sway of her hips was another blow, and the emotion she had stirred did not dissipate even after she was swallowed by it. In his desperation he looked around the room. There were plenty of other girls present, all just as heavily made up. He'd settle for any of them if it would just make it go away.

"Aw, look at you," Paul's voice again. Grey looked away from the crowd and found him standing where Jeanette had been. His clothes had changed to the sort of thing he would have worn out five years ago, back when bothered to pay attention to what was fashionable. Paul folded his arms, looking gratified that he'd stolen his attention yet again. "You were melting before she ever pulled that trick on you. You set yourself up, man. Hell, you wanted it."

Paul's presence was, if nothing else, like being slowly dipped in ice water. Ice water full of things with sharp teeth. Grey said nothing. He did not want to admit he was somehow relieved to see him. That would only give his other half power.

Paul's grin widened, as if he sensed this anyway. Why couldn't he? They were the same person, after all.

"But I'm not so stupid that I'd get worked up over some dead piece of tail. As a matter of fact, how the hell can _you_ even be worked up over her?"

"The blood-"

Paul threw his hands up in disgust, cutting Grey off before he could finish. "Don't give me that! You drink from her one time and think that's the reason for everything. You knew better than that before you even put her fangs in her- among other things."

"You don't know that!" Grey said, loud enough that heads turned, even with the music still blaring. "You can't know that!"

"Face it, she just knows how to play you and you let her. Just so you can feel good. A little effort and it's just like old times, right? Makes you feel all sane and alive again."

"No…"

"But now you don't even remember what either feels like, do you? Even if you did give in and fuck her, it wouldn't do anything."

"SHUT UP!"

It wasn't like in the movies. The music didn't magically stop just in time for his outburst. Those closest to him stared, but beyond that small radius everyone was oblivious to his argument. His cry blurred seamlessly with what was wailing from the speakers. Paul's expression changed in the short time it took for the words to be devoured, passing from smug to somber. The latter was worse.

"I remember," Paul said. And with that he was gone.

Grey found himself standing alone in the middle of a very wide circle. Even those just entering the club somehow saw its boundaries and gave him wide berth. All the lust Jeanette had stoked was gone, replace by a terrible feeling of emptiness. And Dave, he knew, had seen it all. With one quick glance toward the elevator, Grey turned and walked to the bar. Space magically cleared for him, and the expression plastered upon the bartender's doughy face was a cocktail of fear, disgust, and a little pity for flavor. He took the cigar from his mouth before Grey could speak. "Just go," he said, pressing the button under the bar. It wasn't an act of kindness, Grey knew, he just didn't want to risk seeing what happened if he denied him passage. As Grey slowly walked towards the elevator, he found he wasn't sure what he would have done, either.

Dave appeared as soon as the elevator doors slid closed behind him. The noise from outside found its way in through the cracks and padding though as always it was weakened from the effort. Grey stared at the wood tile on the floor.

"Man," Dave said.

The single word was enough to touch upon Grey's already raw nerves. He grabbed Dave by both arms and though his ruined hand gave him little purchase, but one was enough to allow him to slam the Nosferatu against the wall of the elevator. The hood fell back from Dave's face with the impact, laying bare the shock on his face. Rage boiled in Grey's breast where lust had so recently vacated. He felt his fangs press outward and the Beast raise its head eagerly. It took all his will to keep it in check. A look of terror had settled on his friend's face in the time it took him to master himself once more.

Grey let go and stepped back, allowing Dave to slump against the wall of the elevator.

"I don't want to talk about it," Grey said. He hit the button for the second floor and the ride continued in silence. The music from the club died away as they ascended, and much to Grey's relief nothing changed on the way up. Along the way, as he stared at the numbers above the door, he thought about how foolish it had been to think he could be of any use to Dave. He couldn't help him no more than he help himself. He glanced over to Dave, who was staring at his feet. Grey reached a decision just as the chime signaled their ascent was over. After this, he told himself, their paths would split. Dave could survive on his own, he'd be no worse off than Grey had been when he'd been embraced.

They both averted their eyes from the mirror in the hall, for reasons that were more alike than Grey wanted to think of. The voices started just as the reached the door, not inside Grey's head, but just beyond it.

Jeanette's voice was the first to reach him through the door. "Your city?" she said. "Last time I looked it was called Santa Monica, not Stuck Up Bitch."

Grey reached out and grabbed Dave's wrist to keep him from opening the door. He felt a boil pop under his grasp, sending puss oozing between the fingers of his good hand. Trying to hide his disgust, Grey shook his head as Dave looked to him for explanation.

"So vulgar!" Came Therese's muffled retort. "I can't even look at you sometimes. Jezebel!"

He gestured to the door as best he could with his mangled hand, and when Dave caught on that they should listen first, Grey took the opportunity to wipe his other hand off on his pants.

"Oh, Therse," Jeanette sighed. "You really do paint a flattering picture of me with your turn of the century barbs. I always assumed you could do nothing but look down on me."

Both Dave and Grey leaned closer to hear.

"Just the sight of you!" Therese explained. "The sight of that wicked, painted pout concealing that _dirty_, diseased mind! Sin! You have no shame!"

Dave glanced back to Grey curiously. All Grey could do was shrug and turn his head back to listen.

Jeanette laughed, "Let she who is without sin cast the _fierce tone_."

"What?" Dave whispered. Grey shushed him.

"Go ahead and mock me," Therese said. "You pull your pranks, make fun of my ways, it suits you. You're just one big joke!"

"Don't you call me that!" Jeanette snapped.

"Should I start calling a duck a pig as well?" Therese said.

"I'm your sister! How can you treat me like this!" Jeanette's cry was punctuated by the bathroom door slamming.

"That's it Jeanette, run away from the truth," Therese sighed. "I'll take care of everything as always."

Silence. The storm had passed, the argument was over. Dave and Grey were left huddled by the door listening to nothing but the hum of the air conditioning. The noise from the club below was, as ever, completely blocked out. Of course it would be, this was their domain. Grey would have liked a gap of many more nights between his last visit, but time was no friend of his. He stood up, brushed himself off, and prepared for the worst. Dave watched him uncertainly, making Grey worry he perhaps had not been explicitly clear in describing how Therese could be. Too late now.

"Go on," Grey said.

Dave nodded opened the door. Grey stole another moment to try and finish preparing himself before he followed.

Therese was standing next to her desk, looking as professional and composed as she ever did. Her blonde hair was drawn into a bun, it's hasty construction given away by the loose stands hanging from it. Grey liked that best about her, those little cracks in her immaculate façade. He liked her reaction to his entry even more.

The kind smile Therese had put on for Dave melted the moment he stepped inside the room. "What are _you_ doing here?"

Dave turned to look back at him. There was, Grey realized, another thing he had neglected to tell him. His eyes slid to Therese, and he knew from the look she gave him that they would not leave without Dave hearing it.

He covered the dread with a smile. "Can no one guide the babe wandering alone in the woods? Why not me?"

Therese's eyes narrowed. "Do you want me to answer that, knowing you?"

"Ah, but do you really know me?" Grey's smile widened. He wished he had not said that, and he feared his eyes betrayed him.

He looked away and saw Dave had stepped to the side. He was watching the exchange as if it were a tennis match.

Therese's lips pulled into tight, insincere smile, one made harsher by the darkness of her lipstick. "I know the only reason you'd do such a thing is _guilt_."

"Guilt?" Dave said.

"That's not the only reason," Grey countered. If he was lucky that one word would slip from Dave's mind, but that was a rare thing of late.

Therese folded her arms, everything in her posture showed she knew she had the upper hand. "But after what you told me I suppose it's one of the main ones, now isn't it?"

"Told her what?" Dave said, staring at him now.

"Oh, nevermind," Therese said. She unfolded her arms and turned them out in a throwing away gesture. "But it was so nice of Grey to bring you here. I imagine you have something important to ask? A favor, maybe?"

Dave slid an uncertain glance to him. Grey said nothing, he looked back to Therese and saw the silent promise flash in her eyes.

He was surprised when Dave went on without any prompting. "Uh, do you know Bertram Tung?"

Every bout of good humor Therese could muster proved to be short lived. She scowled at the name. "Unfortunately, why?"

"I've heard that he's in hiding because of you."

Therese laughed. "That's no surprise really, the loathsome beast. He's a bad influence on my sister, you should know, and some things I simply can't let stand."

"Yeah, well… I'd kind of like it, I mean I really appreciate it…" Dave stopped to rub the back of his head. "I need you to call of the feud."

Therese shifted her weight to one side. "And why would I want to do that?"

"I, but," Dave stammered.

Therese smiled. "Tell you what. I'll do it, but only if you do a little favor for me first."

Grey winced. She must have noticed it, judging by the way her smile broadened. Before he could speak up, Dave said, "Alright, what?"

Therese's eyes flicked to Grey before she turned and slowly walked around the side of her desk. "Recently I acquired an ocean front hotel that, once restored, could prove quite lucrative." She opened a drawer and withdrew a small key. "Unfortunately there's the little problem of it being haunted."

"Haunted?" Dave asked.

"Mmm-hmm," Therese said, turning the key over in her hands. "The crew refuses to go near the place now, and the longer they are the more money I lose." She moved back to Dave and dangled the key before him. "I want you to go there and get rid of the ghost."

"How am I supposed to do that?" Dave asked, eyeing the key uncertainly.

"It's very simple," Therese said, her tone sliding to the sort reserved for slow children. "Use this key to open the access in the sewer. It's the only way you'll be able to reach the hotel at this hour. It's the only locked way up in the city, so I trust it will be hard to miss."

Grey stepped forward. "And then what? Shall we play with candles and chants?"

Therese's eyebrows raised as she looked to him. Her lips pulled into a tight smile. If there had been any doubt to Grey's investment in Dave, however unintended, he had destroyed it.

"No, Grey," Therese said, using the same idiot child tone with him. "All you have to do is retrieve something of importance to the ghost. I would have hoped you of all people would know that."

"This side of reality is difficult enough to chart," Grey retorted. "I don't care to peek across the fence at the other."

"Your loss," Therese said. She dropped the key into Dave's hand. "I'll want that trinket before sunrise. That shouldn't be too hard, should it?"

"But what if it tries to hurt us?" Dave said.

Therese laughed. "Ghosts are perfectly harmless, I assure you. Now go, we can't spend all night arguing about the metaphysics. I have business to attend to."

Dave's long fingers curled around the key. He looked helplessly to Grey, but there was no advice he could give on the matter. The whispering in his mind told him nothing beyond the fact that, despite what Therese said, they were walking into a ruin frought with danger. Wishing he had left Dave on his on from the night's beginning, Grey turned to the door.

"Grey," Therese called. He froze at the sound of his name, his hand just above the door knob. He slowly turned his head just enough to glance over his shoulder. "Thank you again for telling me about," a pause as she looked at Dave. "Oh, I'm sorry, what was your name again?"

"Dave."

"Ah, yes, David here. I can't say I thought things would turn out quite like this, but it is so nice of you to feel you have to make up for it."

Grey opened the door and stepped out into the hall. The elevator had abandoned them at some point during the meeting, and so while he waited for it to descend he had the pleasure of feeling Dave's shocked gaze boring into him. Grey said nothing.


	13. Falling Out and Falling In

**Chapter 13: Falling Out and Falling In**

Santa Monica's sewers weren't as bad as Dave thought they would be, but a nice sewer was still a sewer. The tunnels were well lit, but that only made it easier to see the rats swimming through the film on the water. He'd kept quiet during the walk from the club to the access point behind it, for his own sake he had to, but once he and Grey were both knee deep in filthy water it was hard to keep his mouth shut. As short as the walk was, it still gave him plenty of time to think about what Therese said. The more he thought about it the angrier he got. Somewhere in the back of his mind was a nagging feeling he was forgetting something, but thought of being betrayed was hogging all his attention. Second to that was the annoying fact that his jeans were going to be a total wreck after this- a bloody, filthy wreck. He remembered what Jack had said about Nosferatu and sewers, but he didn't see how anyone could stand spending an eternity wading through muck. That was just more thing to be upset about, but the thing with Grey was the worst of all.

"You knew," Dave said. The smell hit him the second he opened his mouth. It gave him one more thing to be upset about and forced him to start over. "You knew, and you told _her?_"

Grey kept trudging ahead of him through the water. He kicked at a rat that was too slow to get out the way and said, "This isn't the time."

"Oh, yeah?" Dave sped up so that he was walking right behind Grey. It wasn't easy. "So when were you planning on telling me?"

"Perhaps after the sun burned out," Grey said. "After we find the nights too long to fill."

He still wouldn't look at him, still wouldn't stop. That, on top of the smartass reply, was seriously getting on Dave's nerves. Like one straight answer was that hard.

"_Okay_. How the hell could you even know?"

"From the rain."

"What?"

Grey clicked his tongue, like he was supposed to know. "From a puddle, to be exact."

Dave wasn't even going to try and make sense of that, so he ignored and went on. "You know, it's because of you that I'm in this mess."

Grey stopped so suddenly that Dave walked into his back. He bit his lip in surprise. Grey turned around just as Dave was getting a taste of his own blood. With his spine twisted like it was Dave barely came up to Grey's shoulders.

Your fate," Grey hissed, pointing at him with his good hand. "Would be much darker if not for me. Your discovery was inevitable, never forget that."

He began to walk forward, forcing Dave to stumble backwards as he kept talking. The gleam in his eyes was frightening. "My words and my comrades are what spared you from the destruction your very existence called for. You would have been crushed beneath the ivory tower if not for us."

Dave stopped, putting his hands out to grab Grey by the shoulders before he could walk into him. Having to look up to yell at him didn't help things any.

"That doesn't change anything!" he cried. "I'm still a freak, I'm still in that bastard's pocket, and you're trying to tell me I should be grateful? Fuck that! And fuck you, too."

His words echoed through the tunnels until they were both standing in silence in the muck. Dave kept his hands on Grey. Grey kept staring at him with those creepy eyes of his.

"You don't understand," Grey said.

Dave dug his fingers in just to make him wince. "Stop acting like I'm an idiot! Nobody in their right mind can understand you and your damn riddles, so why the hell do you expect me to just get everything?"

"Because you knew me," Grey hissed, baring his fangs. "From _before_."

The words threw Dave. He let go of Grey and took a step backwards. They were friends, right, but when he tried to think back it turned out the memory of the beach house was fresher than anything else. They stared at each other. Dave felt like he was teetering on the edge of something horribly. He wanted to lash out at Grey almost as much as he was afraid he'd get the same from him. It couldn't be that hard to force him down, claw at his face until it was just a lot of ruined meat. He wouldn't have to look at those eyes on him, wouldn't have to see those disgusted looks he tried to hide from him.

Dave took another step back. "Yeah, well, you've changed in worse ways than me."

Grey's eyes went wide, and Dave felt a moment a triumph to see how that rattled him. It didn't last. Grey recovered quickly, his lip curled into a sneer that showed another flash of fangs.

"Ah," Grey said. "But even so I can at still walk down the street in plain sight, now can't I?"

Dave opened his mouth to retort, but instead of words an angry hiss escaped. He leapt at Grey, his control completely gone by the time they were both carried down into the water. It was too dark to see beneath the surface, but he could feel the body underneath him. He clawed blindly at it, striking nothing. The second time he felt his nails rake across skin, any blood drawn was wasted in the water. As he drew his hand back for the third his prey slipped away from him. They rose to the surface at the same time. He howled with frustration and charged, but it was ready for him. It was stronger now, much stronger than him, and when it caught him he was swung around effortlessly. He kicked at it, but it would not fall. He struggled against its grasp, but it would not let go. It laughed just before it bit him.

The ecstasy chased the Beast away, taking the will to fight with it. He hadn't felt anything so good since the night he died, and if he let it stop he might not ever feel it again.

Only this time he wasn't completely helpless against it, the knowledge that he'd die- probably for good- was all the motivation he needed. He grit his teeth, and the pain from his jagged fangs grinding together helped bolster his will just enough to allow him to raise one arm, the one Grey's damaged hand couldn't grasp. Words were beyond him, there was no room for apologies. All he could do was make it stop any way he could. So he dug his nails into Grey's scalp and squeezed.

Grey had to raise his head to scream, and as soon as fangs were out Dave broke away from him. They ended up against opposite walls of the tunnel. Dave had one hand pressed to his throat. Grey had his good hand against his head. They were both wet, both a little bloody. Dave didn't know about him, but he felt pretty dazed.

"Sorry," Dave said.

Grey looked up, his eyes had that crazy look in them again, but there was fear there too.

"Guess I lost control," Dave added. He felt miserable about it. After all he'd seen, after all he'd been warned, he never thought it would happen that suddenly.

"We both did," Grey said, looking at his bloodied hand. He wiped it off on his pants. Both their clothes were ruined after all that, but Dave couldn't but that anymore. He had tried to tear Grey to shreds, and Grey had tried to eat him. It almost evened out. The whole vampirism thing had a lot more to do with it than the argument did, that had just let it happen. The loss of control, and the reasons behind it, was incredibly scary.

"You were right," Grey said quietly.

"Nah," he said. He laughed shakily. "We're both monsters."

Grey nodded, looking grim.

"Anyway," Dave said. "We should go get this over with. After this- well- I can probably make it on my own. You don't have to stick around."

Grey gave him an odd look. It seemed like a lot of different expressions flicked across his face, until he finally just turned and walked away. Dave hurried to catch up.

"Grey?" he asked.

"Keeping your eyes on the road _miles_ ahead only leads to disaster."

"Oh. Right."

They continued on in silence, and for once it didn't bother Dave.

The hotel didn't look very haunted to Dave, at least not from the outside. It was about as creepy as any old, rundown building ought to be, but he would have expected to see figures moving in the windows, or unexplained lights or something. He scanned the darkened windows on all three floors, but there was nothing to get excited about. The place was huge, and back in the day it must have been something, but all he saw was a sad and abandoned ruin. The lot around it was fenced off, with loops of barbed wire that would have made coming from the street tricky. All kinds of construction equipment was scattered around the lot, making him wonder how long it had been since the workers had refused to keep working. Light posts kept them out of total darkness, which was a small blessing. Aside from that there was just the one light burning by the side of the main doors.

"It's probably locked," Dave said. He and Grey were still standing by the manhole across the lot. The gravel piled next to it made Dave feel a little less exposed, but the lights coming from the trailer a few yards away were making him nervous. So he was a little dismayed when in response to him Grey started walking towards it. He stepped up and opened the door without even bothering to check if someone was there. Dave tried to call out for him to stop, but he was through the door before he could get a word out. Grumbling, he ran across the gravel to join him inside. His only consolation was that nobody was yelling, so it must have been just as deserted as the rest of the property.

"That's so not cool," Dave said when he'd caught up. Grey didn't look over, he was busy staring at an empty key rack mounted on the wall.

"Did you get it?" Dave asked.

"There is nothing to take," Grey said, gesturing to all the empty pegs. He turned and walked to the other side of the trailer, brushing past Dave as if he wasn't there. He was after the first aid kit mounted on the opposite wall.

Dave followed him and watched as Grey took out a roll of gauze from the kit.

"What's wrong?"

"It's hard to explain," Grey said.

"Alright," Dave said. "But what are you gonna do with that?"

Grey held the roll out to him. "I've ghosts on my own that won't be silenced. I need you to bind their remains until I can perform a little manual necromancy."

Dave shook his head and took the gauze. "Is it really that hard to just say 'hey, could you wrap my hand up for me'?"

Crazy metaphors aside, it was a good idea, especially since it meant he didn't have to keep looking at Grey's boneless fingers. The problem was he still hadn't gotten the hang of his own, since he nearly got them tangled up with Grey's hand on more than one pass with the bandage. Grey was silent again, but Dave wasn't going to let that slide. He had him as a captive audience as long as he had him by the hand, anyway.

"Seriously, Grey," he said. "You sounded almost normal for a while back there, so it's obviously possible."

"Just not advisable," Grey muttered.

"Why not?"

More silence. He tried pulling the bandage tighter to get Grey to talk, but then he remembered that was useless when there was no circulation to cut off. When he tied it off Grey still hadn't answered him. With his hand wrapped and his fingers folded underneath, it looked like he'd just lost them recently by some normal methods like some kind of table saw accident.

"Thanks," he said when Dave let go. When he tried to walk off again Dave caught him at the door.

"Hold up!"

"We don't have-"

"Time? Geez, it's not even midnight yet. Can't you at least tell me what the deal with your hand is? Or I not understand that, either? C'mon."

Grey gave him a long, hard look before he pushed the door open and slipped outside. Dave followed, thinking it was another loss, until Grey spoke up as they walked. "It was a child of the dragon. Flesh is as clay to them, and in trying to subdue him I become his sculpture." He rubbed the bandage as he said it. Dave didn't really understand what he was saying, but he couldn't admit that out loud. So he pretended that explained everything while Grey went on, "Perhaps that was my punishment, for what I did, for trading away the secret of you."

"You really think so?"

"Actions are as loyal pets, returning to you from any distance… sometimes only to wet the rug."

It was probably the weirdest thing he'd heard out of Grey yet. It almost felt he was trying to make up for the other, normal stuff Dave had confronted him about. They'd reached the doors in to the hotel, where the one light was burning. Dave noticed that there should have been a matching light on the other side, but when he looked closely he saw there were just jagged shards left where bulb used to be, like it had just popped. Maybe it was faulty wiring.

"We're late," Grey whispered.

Dave looked back just as he climbed the first step up. He looked back at Grey to ask what that meant, but was cut off as the remaining light burst with a loud pop. They both jumped. Suddenly the shadows seemed very thick to Dave, in a way that wasn't at all comfortable. He kept his back to the doors long enough to see that Grey was staring up at one of the floors above. There was just enough light to see there was a very troubled look on his face, but that could have been from before.

"The party has begun without us," Grey said.

"Guess we've gotta crash it, huh?" Dave said. He hoped Grey would argue, instead he nodded.

He also hoped the door was locked, but it swung open without even a little squeak when he tried. Dave stepped into a huge reception area, and Grey followed.

The place must have been something once, back before time and decay got to everything. The musty carpet underfoot had the kind of fancy floral print that you only found in hotels. It led to two huge staircases that curled down from the second floor to encircle a massive chandelier that was currently lying in a heap on the floor. Dave took a few steps forward to get a better look. Wires and cables dangled from the ceiling where the chandelier used to be anchored.

"Must have just snapped," Dave said, looking back at Grey. It made sense, the place was old. Broken down didn't have to automatically mean haunted, too.

Something hit him very hard in the head no sooner than he thought that. He heard glass shatter and felt tiny pricks of pain as a few cuts opened. The impact itself made little white spots flare in his vision. Grey was the only thing that kept him from falling as he caught him by the arm. As Dave awkwardly tried to regain his footing he heard shards of glass crunching under his feet. He looked down and saw that along with the glass- some of it from the chandelier- there were broken bits of wood and an old black and white photo. Two women in old fashioned bathing suits grinned up at him.

Grey jerked him to one side before he could make sense of it. There was a crash as something else went through the window set in the door. Dave tried to look to see who had thrown it, but Grey was dragging him away from the entrance, past the cobweb covered front desk. Movement from behind it drew Dave's attention as they moved by.

"Um, Grey? Look."

It was the pictures. One of the framed photos detached from the wall like some invisible and very unsteady hand had grabbed it. He only had a second to marvel at it before it was flung towards them. Grey grunted as it hit him in the shoulder and tore a gash in his shirtsleeve. The rounded the corner just as another picture missed and hit the wall. The elevator doors might have helped if not for the dusty Out of Order sign strung across it. The double doors at the end of the short hallway had so many boards over them that it looked like someone was expecting an indoor hurricane to hit.

"The stairs," Grey said. Dave had recovered enough that he was able to follow without being dragged. The pictures left behind the front desk didn't budge that time, but Dave eyed them warily anyway. Because he was watching the desk, he wasn't looking when a vase that had been sitting beside the stairs hit him in the chest. He staggered backwards, but he barely felt it as the vase shattered and fell to pieces all around him. He heard another crash. There wasn't enough time to catch Grey before he fell. He turned to help him up only to find Grey was already climbing to his feet.

"Just run!" Grey cried. "I'll be right behind you!"

Dave couldn't argue with that. He ran for the stairs and reached them without taking another hit. He ignored the rail and regretted it when, after taking the steps two at a time, there was a sharp crack. "Dave!" he heard Grey scream.

The middle of the staircase buckled, taking Dave down with the rotted wood as it caved in.


	14. Never Split Up

**Chapter 14: Never Split Up**

Grey couldn't reach the stairs in time, not after the sound of children laughing made him stumble. He caught himself and looked over his shoulder, to the source, but there was nothing. He looked back just in time to see Dave vanish. The stairs had collapsed, taking him down with them. He should have known the hotel itself would be so malicious. Clouds of dust rose tranquilly from the hole created, angels of decay ascending now that their task was complete. As he ran for the staircase Grey thought he saw, just for a moment, faces leering through the dust. It was gone by the time he reached the hole, leaving him with nothing but a clear view into the darkness below. He blinked, and what little light was available become more than adequate, allowing him to see Dave crawling to his feet amidst the splintered timbers. Grey cast a nervous look to the foyer around him, but all was quiet. The decorations remaining were still, giving not so much as a malevolent twitch as he regarded them. It wouldn't last, he was certain of that.

"I'm okay!" Dave called up to him.

Still something felt very off, as it had ever since they emerged from the sewers. The presence of the hotel, all the memories and tragedy trapped within the walls, pressed down upon Grey. His mind buzzed with it, the whisperings of guests decades departed joined with the voices that were always with him. Familiar mockery mingled with complaints of room service, all of it driving him to greater distraction than usual. It wasn't fair, he had almost gotten the knack of pushing it all aside, only to have it amplified. Had he still breathed he would have felt choked. He could only hope the effect extended only as far as the crumbling walls.

"I think I'm in the basement," he heard Dave say.

He looked away from the hole. The walls themselves rippled before his eyes, patches of decayed paper shivered into bright, new life, only to dissolve back to the sad reality. He saw people sitting on the couches along the balcony, a split second of laughter before they were gone again. Laughter, why was it always laughter? It was like being tuned between radio bands, hearing snatches of different stations, and there was nothing he could do to push one way or the other. He was trapped. Worse, there was something else at work, beyond the memories of the place itself. A third signal was the last thing he wanted, but it was there. He couldn't be sure which was giving him the odd feeling, evoking the nearly forgotten biological response that made his hairs stand on end. It wasn't the first time he'd felt it since he died, though it was the first opportunity he had to try and place its source. Grey titled his head up, trying to concentrate, trying desperately to block everything else out. It wasn't far, whatever it was. The palable angst that hung on the air had faded, giving him a chance to focus. Whatever presence had attacked them had either moved on or was gathering its strength to renew it's assault. There was no time to waste.

That was what the dust meant, what the faces meant. He and Dave weren't the only ones present who were still at least loosely attached to the mortal coil. He had to find out who, or what, it was.

"Grey?"

But then there was Dave, still stuck in the basement. Grey looked down to find him peering up at him helplessly, an ugly puppy trapped in a well.

"Do you see a way out?" he called down to him.

Dave looked around. "There's a lot of different hallways, and there's a sign for the elevator at the corner."

"It's not hard to revive it," Grey mused. "A simple switch, a few sparks, and this whole place may yet light up." He glanced around and saw nothing but the present. "It may yet live again, even if it still shambles."

That got a few seconds of silence before Dave called back, "But the elevator's broken on that floor!"

"Nothing you can't rise above." Grey pointed up to the second story's door, though its significance was likely lost on Dave.

He was right. Dave uttered an odd, frustrated grunt. "Then what are you gonna do?"

"I'm going to see who the other guests are. Same as us, they never signed."

"What? There's other people here? \How can you tell?"

It would take far too long to explain, so Grey said, "I'll catch up to you."

He turned and walked away from the stairs, towards the hallway they had neglected in their hurry.

Dave's voice followed him at least for the first few yards. "But it's really dark down here! Grey? _Grey? _Aw, fine..."

From there they were on their own. There was a part of Grey that felt terrible for not staying with him. He could have easily just jumped down. But those feelings, he was afraid, had more to do with the vitae he'd taken when they were both frenzied. Before that he fully intended to leave Dave to his fate once his task was finished. Too many years had passed, too much had changed, and as Kindred he didn't see how their friendship could be revived. Friendship wasn't exactly a concept that worked with their kind, in any case. In the end your friends were either food or competition for food. Now he wasn't sure he could walk away so easily. Thoughts of what Jeanette had done to him all those years ago, and what it had taken to break free of her, made Grey shudder. He didn't want to develop the same problem with Dave. Jeanette was at least easier on the eyes where unnatural fixations where concerned.

But the more he thought of it, the less he could stand the idea of just abandoning him. Maybe it wasn't the vitae. Maybe it was the dying gasps of his conscience. It wasn't any easier to ignore that, feeble as it may be. So long as he watched himself he'd been fine. They both would.

Down the hall and around the next corner, he wasn't surprised to find someone had gone to the trouble- very recently- to take down all the boards covering the doors. That same someone had left them open, saving Grey the worry of making any noise as he slipped past. If only they'd gone that way first. He emerged into a narrow hallway. There were few doors, but it made since there'd be nothing but restaurants and ballrooms on the first floor. Only one door was open, and a pale shaft of light, the kind recognizable as the cool glow of halogen, slashed across the hallway. It was too easy. Grey crept towards the light, his approach slower from the caution required with every picture he walked by. Nothing moved. He was beginning to wonder if what he had seen before had been an ordinary hallucination, but how could that be if Dave had seen it first? If they'd been hit by it? Grey was not excited by the prospect of a real ghost, though the chorus in his head babbled excitedly of storms and shadows. He couldn't bother to listen, not when he heard real voices down the hall. The walls around him appeared to ripple as he drew closer to the door. The changes were not so great as before, instead it looked as though the surface was a pool that a rock had been cast into. The source, unsurprisingly, was the door, but even then Grey could not be sure what it meant. He could cull no useful information from the tangle of his own mind, as the voices chose that moment to fall silent. Interference, that's what it was. For once Grey was annoyed to be without them, but if nothing else it allowed him to hear what was being said without overextending his senses.

"Dis ain't gonna work," a woman's voice said. "Not while Wesley is unconscious."

"Aw, c'mon," a man's voice sneered. "Four works just fine." Grey heard footsteps. "Tell her, Michael. All you really need is the cardinal points. Any idiot knows that."

The woman's cry of outrage was cut short by another man's voice, presumably Michael's. "Lucretia is in charge here, Eddie, as unfortunately there's little hope of _shooting_ spirits. Don't argue with her."

"That's low, man, that's really low."

Grey heard someone groan.

"Um, guys?" Yet another voice, this one soft and feminine- a teenage girl's. "Something's wrong with Wes."

There was a flurry of footsteps. Grey slipped closer so that he was next to the door. All he had to do was lean over to look inside, but instead he pressed himself against the wall and listened. All the while he told himself that he was just imagination the sensation of it moving beneath him. This was no time to let his own psychosis run away with him, not when reality itself has suddenly become just as disconcerting.

"Dey invaded his dreams," Lucretia announced gravely.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" Eddie scoffed. "He's out cold, not sleeping."

"Just de same," Lucretia said.

"What do we do?" The young girl said, panic in her voice.

"We wait," Lucretia said. "Dey ain't powerful enough t' do more dan give him nightmares. I felt dat before."

"You've been wrong before," Eddie said. There was a moment of silence- enough, Grey imagined, for hard looks to be directed at the man. "_What?_ It's true!"

Maybe he was right.

"This was a mistake," the girl said, now sounding close to tears. "We shouldn't have come here. You said there was only one."

"Katie, please," Michael said.

"See?" Eddie said. "The newbie's right. Voodoo Queen over here said all we had to do was go and kick one stupid ghost into the great beyond, and what do we find? A whole fuckin' family of dead people moanin' and wanderin' the halls. And the _kids_…Christ."

"Eddie!" Michael snapped.

"Christ-Christ-Christ," Eddie retorted. He waited a beat before adding, "Oh, damn, still no bolt of holy wrath, what _am_ I doing wrong? Can we just get to work? I'm telling you, it's a simple fucking exorcism. Four is plenty."

"Tell me again why we brought him," Lucretia said.

"Because I'm a fuckin' wheel turner, cocoa bean," Eddie said. "And I believe in restorin' the natural order, same as any of you, just for different reasons."

"You kill people," Katie said softly.

"Only if they need to be killed, baby doll. Anyway, my point is that some of us know how to work with people a little. Y'know, accept that you don't _have_ to chant and wave around chicken bones to get the job done."

"Why you dirty-" but she couldn't finish. The lights in the hallway flared to light as one. For a moment they all flared too brightly, making Grey afraid the bulbs would burst, but after the initial surge everything died down to normal, deceptively warm levels. The place appeared so much less desolate with the shadows pushed back, but to think that just turning on the lights could banish the spirit- or spirits- would be foolish. Still, Dave had succeeded. The thought made Grey smile, but that lovely proud feeling died when the voices resumed.

"What de hell was dat?" Lucretia said.

"Is it the ghosts?" Katie asked.

"Maybe it's daddy dearest," Eddie said.

"That doesn't make sense," Michael said. "If they- or he- wanted to rile us they wouldn't turn the lights _on_."

"I'm pretty riled," Katie said. Her tone had progressed to border on hysteria.

Michael sighed. "Alright, Lucretia, you and Katie stay with Wesley. See if you can't bring him around."

Grey took that as his cue to move away from the door. He could still hear Michael, "Eddie and I will investigate."

"But, but," Katie sputtered. "Horror movies! You know what always happens when people split up in horror movies!"

"You'll be fine," Michael said. "This isn't a movie."

Grey hoped the girl's whining would keep them in the room a little bit longer. He'd moved back enough that their voices were getting fainter. He stopped creeping backwards and turned to walk towards the doors. If he was lucky, the other stair case would hold his weight better than its twin did with Dave. He should have done that in the first place, but such was the sweet siren song of curiosity, forever luring the unwary towards the rocks.

"Hey, you!" Eddie's voice, calling to him. Damn it.

Grey froze. The rocks loomed very near, dangerously near. He was, he knew, just a moment away from being dashed upon them. He could hear the pounding of waves in his ears. When he turned to face the man, when he drew a breath to offer some horrible excuse, he could smell salt water. He was beyond caring whether it was the hotel or his own mind. If he had any delusions of trying to ponder the difference there in the hallway, the sight of Eddie chased them away.

He wasn't at all what Grey expected. The man was tall and broad shouldered. He looked like the motion picture ideal of an assassin, dark eyes, dark hair and all. His voice had hinted as much, but Grey could never have imagined he would be so pale. Eddie was almost as pallid as a corpse. As pallid, Grey thought, as he must have looked himself. He should have checked in the mirror at Dave's apartment. For that matter, he should have taken into consideration the state his clothes were in after the trek through the sewers. They were still damp, as was his hair, and he bad feeling that any trace of blood on him would be far too noticeable. He stared at Eddie, Eddie stared at him. Grey had never in his unlife, even in his life, seen a human that looked so cold.

"Who are you?" Eddie asked. He was still looking at Grey far too closely. "What are you doing here?"

"I, uh," Grey stumbled over his words. In the same moment he opened his mouth, his other self had stepped out from behind Eddie. Paul's normal skin tone looked incredibly tan by comparison. He grinned smugly.

"Here's the funny thing," Paul said. "In case you haven't already guessed it, your life pretty much depends on acting like a sane person for a least three seconds."

He had to be lying. Grey's mind seized upon one word, and that word tripped past his lips before he could stop himself. "_Life?_"

Confusion swept over Eddie's killer's face. Paul threw his hands up. "I can't do a thing with you, can I?"

He vanished with those words, leaving Grey alone with Eddie until another man stepped out. Where Eddie was cold, the newcomer radiated equally unnerving warmth. He was too pure and wholesome looking to be believed. This was the father seen only in sitcoms, the calm hearted soul who brimmed with sage advice for the naïve little children. He couldn't have been much over forty. His hair was immaculate even if it was receding. The warmth and calm was so much more pervasive than what Eddie gave off that for a moment Grey felt, actually believed, that everything would be fine. People, especially humans, shouldn't resonate anything so strongly. Grey wanted very badly to run, but then how would that look? For that matter, what would they do?

"I was just leaving," Grey said. The words were wrong, but he had to say something. "My friends, we-" his tongue, treacherous thing that it was, refused to keep helping with his lies. "Sorry!"

He turned and moved for the doors as quickly as he could. A strange feeling washed over him when he was just a few feet away. He didn't look back. When he reached the doors he leapt over the threshold as though it were a gaping chasm between rooms. He stepped back into the main hall just in time to hear Eddie yell, "Vampire!"

Grey ran for the stairs.

"How can they know?" he cried. He hadn't meant to say it out loud, but in response one of pictures left on the wall flung itself at him. It missed by a foot, but inspired Grey to run faster.

The foyer looked much different lighted, though without the chandelier great patches of shadow still remained. Grey had no time to acknowledge the threat posed by the shadows themselves. He was more concerned that every piece of furniture around him was very likely to become a projectile. A vase clipped him on the leg as he passed the staircase Dave had fallen through. He grabbed the railing of the intact staircase and scrambled up. The stairs groaned loudly in complaint, but held. Fate was laughing at him somewhere, taunting him with the simple fact he and Dave would not be separated if they had only chosen that one first. Grey was almost at the top of the stairs when he heard a crash below, followed by a cry of pain. He could not tell if it was Michael or Eddie who was hit. Either way, he was immensely grateful the ghosts did not discriminate. Grey hesitated at the top of the stairs. Left or right? Would either way be open to him? There was no time to wonder or wait for a sign. There was a cheerful ding just as he bolted right, perhaps a belated sign that he was correct.

If that wasn't enough for him, colliding with Dave was. The doors of the elevator he'd just stepped out of slid closed while they were still getting to their feet.

Grey tried to look back to the stairs to see if the others had caught up, but Dave grabbing him by the shoulders forced his attention away.

"Do you have any idea what I had to go through to get the power back on?" Dave hissed. There was, Grey noticed, a gash on his cheek that still had yet to close.

"I hear the faintest of whispers, telling me it was exciting," Grey said. He wished he had the capacity to be breathless after so much running; it would have kept him from saying as such.

"The whole boiler room went nuts as soon as I flipped the switch!" Dave threw his hands up to demonstrate, or perhaps it was just exasperation. "And there was this guy who-"

Grey heard footsteps rushing up the stairs, more crashes as the ghosts focused their ire on the more easily hurt creatures. He grabbed Dave by the arm and ran, cutting his story short. "Complain later!" Grey said, and by the time they reached the balcony that wound around the rooms Dave was keeping pace with him. The sound of breaking glass behind them was nothing knew, but Grey stumbled as he heard a gunshot. The metal railing pinged loudly as a bullet meant for either of them ricocheted off it.

"What the hell?" Dave cried, and stopped. Grey, still holding on to him, nearly fell over.

"Moving targets get fewer holes," Grey said desperately. He grabbed the railing to steady himself.

"You never said anything about them being armed!" Dave said.

"It never crossed my mind," Grey said.

Their argument was interrupted as the doors they were standing by very slowly opened of their own accord. Another gunshot from the stairs was all it took to drive the two of them inside, no matter how eerie the invitation might have been.

"This is really too much, Grey," Dave said. "Poltergeists, now crazy people with guns? What the fuck, Grey? Oh god, what if they saw me?"

"It makes no difference," Grey said, glancing around the room. It was, as far as he could see, a perfectly normal hotel bedroom, aside from the fact it lacked a bathroom. He moved toward the bed, following the odd scratching noise coming from nearby.

"What do you mean?" Dave asked. Grey realized, even as he looked at the nightstand, that he hadn't finished what he was saying.

Grey opened the drawer and found an old key. "They know what we are," he said as he picked it up.

"How could they-" the lights in the room went out, cutting Dave off yet again. The scratching returned, louder and faster than before, and when the lights flickered back to life Grey at last saw what it meant.

GET OUT was scratched in jagged letters over the bed.

"Oh god," Dave said.

"We're working on it," Grey said. He started back towards the door. He noticed the Slinky dog on the floor just in time to step over it as it was pushed towards him. "Why don't you focus on the breathers!" he yelled at it, hoping whatever was responsible could hear him. He saw why once they stepped back into the foyer. Every bit of décor that could be lifted, the same pieces that Grey had been wary of before, were gone. There were pale squares on the wall to mark where pictures had hung just moments ago. The coffee tables placed before the moldering couches were bare of vases or statuettes. The remains of what had been thrown were scattered everywhere, from broken glass to fragments of porceline. All attention had indeed been focused on the two living men, which Grey hoped explained the feeble effort made with the toy. The effort made in the foyer had no been wasted, it seemed. Eddie was sprawled one of the couches near the staircase, his face covered in blood. One hand was pressed to his forehead. The other, Grey was happy to see, had nothing in it. The gun Eddie had been such a terrible shot with was lying closer to their end of the hall. Never had he seen a more beautiful sight. Michael was sitting next to him on the couch, surveying the damage. Grey too the opportunity to creep forward and grab the gun while they were both distracted.

"What are you gonna do with that?" Dave whispered. It was nice that Grey didn't have to keep dragging him along, but rather than explain his intentions he smiled. Dave, unsurprisingly, looked worried. Grey stood back up and continued moving slowly towards the two men. It was safe to assume, even if the static in his mind was no help, that neither they nor their friends were ordinary kine. He gripped the gun tightly, like he'd always seen in the movies. It was a bad time to be thinking about the simple fact he'd never fired a gun before. With any luck, he wouldn't have to.

"I can't see!" Eddie cried.

"Would you relax?" Michael said. "The cut's on your forehead, not your eyes."

"There's blood in my fucking eyes!"

"There always is," Grey said. He grinned to himself. He always dreamed of being in such a situation, just like in the movies.

Both men looked up as he spoke, but only Michael was truly able to focus. Eddie was still desperately trying to keep his own blood out of his eyes. So much for the cold killer. Grey's grin split a little wider as he leveled the gun on him, but even as he did he knew Michael's look of shock was not directed at him. Dave, he knew was standing right next to him, and in all the excitement he doubted he had thought to do so much as put his hood up.

Dave ruined the moment by saying, "We don't wanna hurt you."

"He speaks for himself and no one else," Grey said, hissing the words through his teeth. The grin could not be wiped from his face. It would be so incredibly easy to end both of the lives before him. Guns were terrible things, but the made the simple act of killing someone so much easier. One bullet, then another, and then there were be two more ghosts in the hotel. It was so much cleaner than the usual method.

Dave put his hand on his shoulder and squeezed hard enough to make Grey wince. His finger tightened on the trigger, if not enough to fire.

"They know what we are, Dave," Grey said. His voice sounded odd, even to him.

"I don't care."

"They mean to kill us, Dave," Grey said. Strange that he couldn't put any emotion into the words. He kept his eyes on the two men as he said it. He let the gun waver back and forth between them as it pleased. The only question that remained was who would go first. He could see Michael understood. Eddie was a little harder to read.

"Would you cut it out the Stanley Kubrick bullshit already?" Dave said, shaking him a little. "We don't have time for this."

"It will only take a second," Grey said. "Two seconds."

Even as he spoke he focused on Eddie. His aura obediently flickered into view with but a thought, and from the corner of his eye he could see something of Michael's as well. The fear he desired was in Michael, but that wasn't so with Eddie. All he saw, etched in bright and vivid hues, was a terrible calm mixed with, of all things, pleasure. The strangeness of that overshadowed the desire to see all those colors obliterated.

"Let's just leave them alone," Dave said. Grey barely heard him. As he stared at the aura it changed. He lowered the gun as he stared, and in that same instant Eddie's aura changed. The calm remained, but the glee flooded through like an oil spill to push it aside.

"Grey?" Dave said.

Bright sparks erupted throughout Eddie's aura as Grey stood transfixed. The strange feeling from the hallway returned, much clearer now that he was standing right in front of the source. He didn't expect it to feel like a blast of cold air. Michael, apparently, felt it to.

"What are you doing?" Michael asked. Eddie's only reply was short chuckle.

There was a groan as the floorboards beneath Grey's feet began to sag. He took a step back and looked down to see that the wood was rotting before his very eyes, years of decay happening all at once, on top of what it had already suffered. He looked up and saw the same was happening to the couch, what color was left fading out before the fabric rotted away entirely. Michael leapt off it as through burnt, leaving Eddie sitting there in its midst. The rush of decay, it seemed, was not limited to what was around him. Wrinkles appeared on Eddie's face, wiping the sick grin from it as he realized what was happening. There was a strange, dry rustling noise as his skin shrink wrapped itself to his bones, while at the same time liver spots blossomed thirty years too soon. Eddie himself no longer looked thirty. "Shit," he wheezed.

Michael had apparently forgotten any misgivings he had about vampires while the scene unfolded. He had moved back along with the two of them so that he was standing right next to Dave. They all could do nothing more but stare as decay wrecked havoc on in a rough circle around the self proclaimed wheel-turner, whatever that meant. The floor at last collapsed, taking what was left of Eddie and the couch with it, sparing them all the sight of just how far the decay would spread. Another cloud of dust rose like a dying gasp from the basement. The railing that was left, no so rusted that it appeared to have been left to the elements for decades, remained for a few seconds more before it snapped and fell in to join the rest. Grey didn't dare creep forward to see what lay in the basement now. He had a feeling he already knew what he would see.

The shocked silence was broken by the sound of children laughing.

"That idiot," Michael whispered.

Grey found himself nodding, even if he wasn't exactly sure why.


	15. Watch Your Step

**Chapter 15: Watch Your Step**

What Dave saw couldn't have been possible. Then again, vampires weren't supposed to exist and neither were ghosts. That still didn't explain what he saw. The man in black was pale, but if he was a vampire he wouldn't have been breathing so heavy when Dave and Grey crept up. Even weirder, the guy with the cross didn't take Dave's appearance nearly as bad as probably should have. If not for the stare down Grey started Dave might have done stupid like ask what the hell they were supposed to be if not human. The man in black, the couch, everything around him rotted, but saying that out loud seemed redundant. He thought for a second somehow Grey had made it happen, but when he glanced over Dave saw he looked just as surprised as he was. Dave looked down at the new hole. There were a few pieces of wood left that looked they were a few decades older than the other boards, and that had happened in just a few seconds. It didn't make any sense.

The other guy- the other human- was standing right next to them after all that. He looked a lot like some kind of youth group leader, too wholesome to be believed. His dirty blonde hair would have been perfect if not for the fact it was receding. The duster he was wearing made it seem like he was trying too hard to cancel out the dress shirt and tie under it, maybe so he didn't clash with his buddy the late hitman. The crucifix around his neck shouldn't have been a surprise with those 50's dad looks, he had to be one of those old school family values freaks. And yet he was standing there in the middle of a haunted hotel with them, staring down into a hole that probably contained a corpse that looked like it'd been dead for years. The more Dave thought about it, the less he really wanted to know how it had been done.

When Mr. Wholesome was done surveying the damage he looked at Dave and Grey. He probably should have focused on Grey more, because of the gun, but then Dave remembered he looked a whole lot worse even unarmed. The man was staring at him, but he had to give him props for not doing anything more than that. It was still really damn awkward. Dave looked helplessly to Grey. He'd had a point before, even if he was teetering on the edge of another homicidal fit at the time. They were in a very bad situation. At least ghosts couldn't run and tell the media. Grey didn't return the look, in fact he didn't appear to be looking at anything at all. His eyes were unfocused, and there was no telling what was running through his head. Worse, both of his hands, including the good one that had the weapon, were at his sides. If the man suddenly decided to fight they were screwed.

"You don't belong here," the man said. That didn't sound good.

"We were just, uh…" Dave trailed off. When he spoke the man looked shocked all over again, like he didn't expect him to even be able to speak. Maybe he shouldn't have. Dave pressed his hand against the back of his neck, and the way his fingers curled around his neck was just another reminder of how freakish he was. Funny that he'd almost forgotten. He looked to Grey again, feeling desperate. Grey had titled his head slightly to one side, like he was trying hard to listen to something. He still wasn't paying attention what was right in front of him.

"You are an affront against god," the man said, his voice growing more forceful. "Abominations."

"Sorry," Dave said. What else could you say to something like that?

The man held up his crucifix, the chain was long enough to make it look nice and dramatic, perfect brandishing length. Dave never thought he'd see something like that outside of the movies. For a moment he was worried, at least until he remembered what Jack said about crosses. Nothing happened, just like he said it would. Grey finally rejoined them and laughed when he saw the cross. Dave wanted very badly to comment on him picking horrible times to zone out, but it was a bad time to bring something like that up. He looked back to the man sweat beading on his forehead. The hand he was holding the cross out with was shaking. Suddenly, even after that little speech, he was afraid.

"Look," Dave said. The man made a shrill yelping noise and the cross was swiveled in his direction. Dave held his hands up, but in a placating gesture. He glanced to Grey, but he was still snickering. No help there.

"Okay, so maybe I can't speak the both of us," Dave said. "But I really don't want things to get, um, messy. So let's just forget the whole abomination thing. Forget you even saw us. Me especially. It'll be easier on all of us. You should probably go check on your buddy, anyway."

His buddy was more than likely dead, even Dave saw that, but he was really to try anything if it would keep things from turning violent.

The man shook his head, some of his resolve returning. "His fate was long overdue."

Grey uttered a strange giggle, drawing both Dave's attention and the religious nut's over. "Oh yes, pull too hard on any one thread and sooner or later it _snaps_ back, eh? Funny how they'd make a tapestry out of rubber."

The man's mouth fell open in shock. "How can you know that?"

Dave looked at Grey in confusion. String? Tapestry? _Rubber_? He had no idea what he meant, or why it would shake the man like that.

"Just a thought," Grey said innocently. "Not necessarily one of my own."

Several different expressions paraded across the man's face, finally ending with anger. His grip on the crucifix tightened enough to make his knuckles go white and his hand shake even more. Dave groaned.

"Enough!" The man cried. That resolve he'd scraped together died a second later. Maybe it was the look on Grey's face, or maybe it had something to do with the fact nothing was happen. His shoulders sagged, but he kept the cross out. Sweat was pouring down his face now. Dave felt sorry for him, despite the fact the guy was operating under delusion he had to kill them for Jesus.

The man kept trying. "I'm... I am God's instrument and I… I…"

Grey cut him off with another laugh before he could find the right words. That look was in his eyes again.

"You're forgetting something," Grey said, holding up his bandaged hand. If he had any fingers left on it he'd probably have been holding one up. "One sweet, intrinsic truth that cannot be denied."

The man gave Grey a skeptical look. He lowered his hand a fraction. "What?"

The smile that appeared on Grey's face was incredibly disturbing. "I have a gun and you don't."

He leveled it at the man's head and cocked it just to drive the point home. Nothing in his face had changed exactly, but he didn't look like himself in that moment.

"Don't!" Dave cried.

Nothing happened. Not yet.

It was a very strange standoff. Grey had the gun trained on the man, and the man had his crucifix raised. The sick grin was fixed on Grey's face, but he didn't pull the trigger. The man was looking more and more agitated. Whatever he expected the happen just wasn't going to happen.

"Could it be God's instrument is badly out of tune?" Grey said, sounding on the verge of laughter. "Oh how you shame your namesake, _Michael_."

"Shut up, demon!" The man snapped. As riled as he was, it looked like Grey was right about his name. Dave was about to try and make Grey stop again when he saw something move in the corner of his eye.

"Grey?" he said.

"I'm curious," Grey said, ignoring him in favor of taunting Michael. "How long ago did you lose faith, hmm?"

"You filthy, blood sucking leech!"

"HEY!" Dave shouted. Both looked at him. Dave pointed past the hole to the balcony. "Look!"

He wasn't bluffing, even after all that had happened in the hotel he couldn't have made up what was standing there staring at them. Michael and Grey both looked. Michael gasped.

A woman was standing down the hallway, glowering at the three of them. She appeared to glow faintly from within. Her skin was milky pale, and the white gown she wore emphasized that. All the white made the blood that splattered it stand out that much better. She had one hand was clenched in a fist at her side, she was pointing at a door with the other. Even from a distance Dave could see her finger was blackened. The woman stood motionless, glaring and pointing, just long enough for all three of them to see, and then she vanished. Dave looked at Grey and Michael. Both of them looked just as shocked as he was, and both of them were still staring at the place the ghost had been standing.

Dave took the opportunity, while they were still staring, to shove Michael into the hole. It took surprisingly little force to do it. Michael's arms flailed, but by then he was already falling. Dave hoped the wreckage, and whatever was left of his friend, was enough to break his fall. After a few seconds of silence, he crept closer to the hole. Careful of the rotten boards of his edge, he leaned over to look down into it. He could see by the weak light below that Michael had landed in what looked like some kind of lounge. Rough estimate put it just behind the front desk, so maybe it was originally meant for employees. There was a lot of broken furniture beneath him, though part of that was probably from before. Michael was moving, but the body under him wasn't. The body, just as Dave thought, looked like it had been rotting there since the hotel was first abandoned. Dave shuddered and looked away. A scream came from below as Michael must have realized what he was lying on. He heard the debris shift, then unsteady footsteps. Nothing seemed to be broken either.

"Damn you!" Michael called up at them. That was a relief. He couldn't be too injured if he could still curse them. Dave looked to Grey, who looked like he was seriously considering firing down into the hole. The moment passed, Grey flicked the hammer back. He stuck the gun in the waistband of his bands, but not before putting the safety on. There was a haunted look on his face.

"We really shouldn't leave him there," Dave said.

Grey shook his head. "His friends will find him." He glanced downstairs, but there was no sign of anyone coming. "We must hurry."

They both slipped around the rotted floorboards, towards the room the ghost woman had pointed at. Dave could only hope she wasn't the same one that had been throwing things. At the same time he was glad everything around them looked like it had already been broken. He wondered how many of those had hit the two humans.

"I really am sorry!" Dave called down. He meant about pushing the guy down into the basement, but it could have gone back to his original apology over what he was. He got no response. All Michael did was glare up at him. They stepped out on to the balcony wrapped around the other half of the second floor rooms. Dave braced himself for something weird to happen, but when they got to the door it didn't open for them. When Dave tried the knob he found it was even locked. Grey handed him the key he'd gotten from the other room.

"We could've just broken the door down from the start," Dave said as he opened it. "We might've avoided those guys that way. They're gonna tell, you know."

"Oh no they won't," Grey said. "They're reality deviants, even if they still breathe they have just as much to hide."

"Reality deviants?" Dave said. The room beyond the door was a disappointment. There was nothing to see but a bunch of boards covering a hole in the floor.

"Not my word," Grey said. He experimentally stomped one of the boards. It gave way easily. "It sounds better than mage, I think. In any case, they won't tell. If we're lucky, if fate so decides to smile upon us, our threads will never tangle after this night."

Dave didn't look forward to jumping down. He also didn't want to think too much about what the term 'mage' implied, besides the fact some people took role-playing games a little too seriously. He could only assume Grey meant he hoped they never met Michael and his supposed friends again. He hoped so too.

"How do you know all this stuff, anyway?"

"I listen," Grey said. He kicked the rest of the boards in until the hole was clear. "There's usually at least one voice that's helpful."

"Uh, right," Dave said. The matter-of-fact way Grey said it was almost as disturbing as the fact he heard voices. He looked down at what looked like a bar, which made the drop down seem slightly less formidable. Slightly.

Grey scoffed at his hesitation. "Remember what you are," he said, and jumped down. It was true the fall in the basement hadn't hurt as much as he expected, but knowing that didn't make him feel any better about the drop. He made two attempts at jumping down, both aborted at the last moment, before Grey had enough. He rolled his eyes and held up his arms. Dave finally worked up the nerve to jump with that, but he made a point to land _beside_ Grey instead of going with his offer to catch him. Grey didn't tease him about it, which was a relief. Then again, he might have if he wasn't suddenly in a rush. Dave looked around and saw it wasn't just a bar, but a restaurant that was a little on the small side. Grey tried the doors leading back into the lobby first, but the boards on both sides made sure they wouldn't get it open quickly if they tried. Dave could have tested his strength against that, but he didn't want to see what he felt like to try and punch through three layers of wood. He looked around for some other way out. The dumb waiter behind the bar gave him an idea. Grey had hopped over before he could say anything.

"It can't carry both of us at once," Dave said.

"So I'll send it back for seconds." Grey pushed the button, the metal door slid open to show it was already there and waiting. He was just barely able to squeeze himself in. Dave had his doubts that it would be able to make it back once Grey was down, but within a minute he heard the dumbwaiter grinding its way back up. Dave had no problem with crawling into a tiny space. One irrational fear was enough for him. He pushed the button down and yanked his hand back just as the shutter began to slide closed. Dave began to rethink his opinion of tight spaces once he was stuck curled up in a tiny box that was groaning and shuddering through the entire descent down to what he hoped would be the kitchen.

He was right, it was a kitchen, but in the two minutes it had taken for Dave to rejoin Grey something had set the ghost- or ghosts- off again. Grey had pressed himself against the wall to avoid the pots and pans that were being flung all over the room. There were a lot of them, the kitchen had apparently been well stocked, and they were flying in every direction. The noise was terrible.

"What did you do?" Dave yelled as he climbed out of the dumbwaiter.

"I tried the door," Grey yelled back. "And I picked this up." He held out small book that had a broken clasp hanging off it, someone's diary. Dave took it and wondered what the hell it was doing in the kitchen. There was an even louder crash from across the room just as he opened it. That must have been the door.

"Now's our chance!" Grey called to him.

Dave looked over, but all he could see were dozens of pots of pans- _metal_ pots and pans- were still zooming in all directions across the kitchen.

"Shouldn't we wait until-" the words died as the burners on every stove in the room's center erupted into flames.

Something else seized control of him again. He ran, so did Grey. They clawed at each other to be the first through the door, were briefly caught as they both attempted to go through at the same time. Dave yanked Grey back and charged through ahead of him. He made it all the way across the storage room before he was even able to recognize that was what it was for. One last pan was sent sailing over the shattered pieces of the door, but the only thing it hit was an empty metal rack against the wall. Grey had stopped just behind him and was staring at the kitchen door. The noise slowly died away as the tantrum ended. As Dave watched the door the flickering light from the burners died too.

"Did you get hit?" Dave asked. He'd been lucky.

"Saucepan to the side," Grey said, pointing to it. "Nothing serious."

They stood there in silence for a few moments, roughly the same amount of time it might have taken Dave to catch his breath- if he still breathed. He missed that already.

Dave looked at the journal while Grey looked for a way out. He flipped it open and found the pages were filled with flowery, hard-to-read cursive. He could at least make out that it dated back to the 50's, which surprised him as the hotel seemed more old fashioned and rundown than that. He looked up, meaning to ask Grey if he could make any sense of it, but he was busy pushing a crate over to a vent set high into the room's far wall. Dave flipped to the last page. It was blank, so he went backwards until he found the last page that had anything on it. The handwriting was even less comprehensible on that page, but from what he could make out the writer had been locked in the bathroom while someone was beating on the door. She'd written in cursive to the last line, which slashed across the page. Fifty-year-old blood was splattered across the other. Dave slapped the book closed, thoroughly creeped out all over again.

"Do you thing Therese will want this, too?" he asked, holding the diary up. Grey looked over his shoulder. He was crouched on top of the shelf just beneath the vent and was in the middle of removing the cover. He was doing pretty well to only have one useable hand, but then Dave realized he should have been helping.

"I don't know about her," Grey said, laying the grate aside. "But I do know I want very badly to be free of this place, and quickly. The noise is only getting worse."

"Alright, I get it," Dave said. He didn't even want to know what he meant by noise. Knowing about him hearing voices was bad enough.

He slipped the journal into the front pocket of his hoodie, which had almost dried in all the time they'd spent running around the hotel. His clothes like they were doomed to be ruined no matter what he did. Grey was already climbing into the air duct when Dave reached the shelf.

"Where do you think this goes?" he asked.

"We shall see," Grey said, still sounding annoyed. He followed him closely for several feet before Grey stopped abruptly.

"What?" Dave said.

"Did you hear that?" Grey asked.

"Hear what?" Dave said.

Almost on cue, a women's voice whispered _'be careful_' in his ear. Dave jerked in surprise, hitting his head on the top of the duct. The noise it made was almost as bad as it felt.

"I suppose so," Grey said, snickering.

"Yeah, well, I'm not used to it like you are," Dave muttered.

The duct led to the elevator shaft, one story up in an elevator shaft, to be exact. Before he had the chance to lose his nerve, Dave jumped. Something made him try to stop himself in the same moment, leaving him to half jump, half fall out of the opening. He landed on his back, missing breaking his fall on Grey by less than a foot.

"Ow," Dave said, so what if it didn't really hurt? What little pain there was faded by the time he got to his feet. Under normal circumstances, back before he became a vampire, he probably would have sprained something at the very least. Right, and under normal circumstances he wouldn't be running around a haunted hotel getting attacked by ghosts and people who had unreliable magical powers. He longed for the good old days, back when the most he had to worry about were bodyguards and lawsuits.

It was a horrible time to want to cry.

"You're doing better," Grey said. He put a hand on his shoulder.

That jolted him. They were the first kind words he'd spoken to him since they'd entered the place, but before Dave could even smile there was a loud snap from above. He looked up just in time to see that was the noise an elevator cable made when it snapped. Dave stared up in horror as the car begin to fall. He probably would have kept staring until it flattened him if not for Grey, who grabbed him and pulled him forward. They both landed in a recess for the emergency ladder just as the car crashed into the floor. Dave's foot was just inches from it. He pulled it back slowly, even though the danger had passed.

"At least there's one dead person that's not out to kill us," Dave said, once his ears stopped ringing.

Grey surprised him again by helping him to his feet. All the sudden changes in his behavior made Dave nervous. One minute he was annoyed at everything he did, the next he was helpful. One minute he was acting like some kind of homicidal maniac, the next he was so calm it was eerie. It left Dave feeling even more off balance for being there at every shift.

"Not much further," Grey said. "Our prize is as near as it can be to heaven without being on the roof."

"The top floor?" Dave asked. He looked up and saw the only way to get out of the shaft was to jump across. The doors to the second and third floors were open, but it was still a long way down if they missed.

Grey started climbing while Dave was still trying to figure if he could survive a three story fall. By the time he made it to the top he had decided that, vampire or not, that kind of fall would be bad. Grey of course made the jump without any hesitation, but then again he was probably more crazy than he was brave. Dave watched him, saw how easy he made it look, but then all he could look out was the incredibly narrow ledge that was supposed to meet the elevator. He had about three inches between himself and a very unhappy landing, unless he could somehow launch himself straight into the hallway. As if having to jump across an elevator shaft from three stories up wasn't bad enough, there was the little issue of him being stuck just as high on a very old ladder. He could maybe find another way to the third floor if he just went back down.

But then Dave made the mistake of looking down. His grip on the ladder tightened, making his nails dig painfully into his hands. One of those nails broke and fell off. He waited for the sound of it hitting the ground, until he remembered it was stupid to think he could hear something that small land so far below him. He didn't feel any of the usual responses to being confronted with his fear of heights. His heart didn't bother moving, neither did his lungs. His skin remained as dry and cracked as it was since he changed. Something in his guts twitched, but after so many nights of that he was afraid they were never going to settle down. It didn't matter if his body wasn't going to play along, he was terrified. He closed his eyes and pressed his forehead against the wall. It was just as cold as the rusty bars were.

"Dave!" Grey's voice seemed to force him to look over. He was standing at the open doorway, his arm outstretched. "The night is dying, remember."

"I can't," Dave said. It took a lot of effort just to open his eyes and look back at Grey.

"Either you try, or you stay there until sunrise. Your choice."

"What, no riddles with that?"

"Goddamit, Dave!"

"Alright! I'll try! Geez."

He caught himself just before he made the mistake of looking down again. Instead he kept his eyes on the open door, on the nice, solid floor that was just beyond it. Grey waved his hand encouragingly.

Dave closed his eyes and jumped.


	16. Checking Out

**Chapter 16: Checking Out**

It was painfully obvious Dave still didn't know his own strength. That occurred to Grey just as Dave launched himself from the ladder, giving him just enough time to pull his hand back before impact. Grey hit the moldering carpet hard, with Dave on top of him. He was fast becoming intimately aware of all the many fine lines and blemishes the Nosferatu form could possess, which was far more than he ever wanted to know about. Dave stammered his apologies and scrambled to his feet. Grey waved off his offer to help him up, not caring to see how much more punishment the bones in his wrist could take. This was the longest night he'd suffered through in recent memory, trumping even all those nights he spent in the grips of particularly bad visions. At the rate things were going, he'd rather come to his senses in the middle of a freeway than face another angry specter. He could only hope his intuition wasn't leading him astray.

A vase standing in the corner began to wobble just as Grey rose to his feet. If nothing else, Dave was being a little more alert. They threw themselves against sides of the hall. The vase hit the floor and shattered several feet beyond them.

"Think we're getting close?" Dave asked.

The lights in the hall began to burst one by one. That was answer enough. He grabbed Dave by the arm and ran down hall. They rounded to corner only to be faced with more of the same. Doors lined the halls with lights burning cheerfully between each. For a moment Grey feared this was another hallucination, one where the hallway would never end no matter how many corners they turned. The numbers on the door were different than the ones before, as were the stains on the floor, but it could still be an illusion. One of the lights ahead of them burst, the door just to the left opened a few inches and slammed, and Grey was still wondering if any of it was real. Darkness was creeping closer with every light that went out.

Dave pulled his sleeve. "What are you waiting for? Come on!"

Grey hadn't even realized he had stopped moving. Together they ran for the next corner, but Grey still worried. So much was happening around them, but how much of it was from his own mind? The last of the lights burst. The only illumination left was the moonlight that was barely able to penetrate the grime encrusted windows. It was a terrible time to be questioning things. Grey remained behind Dave. They ducked into the rooms that would allow them entry, but in every one they tried they found nothing but skeletal bed frames and decorations that were likely to be used against them if they lingered. They ran through each as quickly as they could. They opened every drawer, checked every bathroom, but there was nothing of any significance to be found. Grey feared he had been wrong, that the whole ordeal was a snipe hunt meant to get Dave killed. There was some hope in the next room they tried. Part of the ceiling had collapsed, the burnt support beams had in death, provided a convenient way up to the floor above. Most of the room's ceiling was gone, burnt away in a fire that had died long ago. There was little left of the windows beyond a few burnt pieces of wood and jagged bits of glass. Grey turned and admired the décor while Dave slowly, nervously, made his way up. The higher one went, the more luxurious the accommodations became, or so the rotting chairs and rugs told him. They didn't have the chance to say much before everything burst into purple flames. They oozed slowly out from the wall, passing through the lavish chairs that mildew nested upon. It cast an odd glow throughout the room as it consumed nothing.

"Dave?" Grey said. He didn't bother glancing back. He could hear Dave's nails scratching against the wood just behind him.

"I see it too."

"Just checking."

"Think we're close now?"

"Looks like it."

"Let's hurry."

They skirt past the surreal flames and continued left the room behind. The hallway beyond was a blackened wreck. Dave surprised him by moving ahead to jump across a hole in the floor. It wasn't a terribly formidable gap, but at least he was making an effort. More flames oozed out from the walls, lending their eerie purple light as they flowed upwards along the ceiling. Grey did not care to test to see if the flames would burn him. Neither, apparently, did Dave. They stayed close together, moving as quickly as they could. The fire was left behind soon enough. They should have known it wouldn't truly end there. Dave remained ahead of Grey, so he took the brunt of the blast when the pipes in the wall burst. Pieces of the wall erupted out along with a jet of scalding steam. Dave howled in pain, Grey pulled him back just before the next section of wall exploded. He watched as the next burst, and then the next, all the way to the corner until there was nothing left to use against them.

"Too soon, too fast," Grey muttered. He clicked his tongue. "Sloppy."

Dave was whimpering, his hand pressed to his face. Grey pulled it away to survey the damage. Not even scalding steam could make his face look much worse. Dave's face was red where it had hit, the normal sickly yellow where it had gone untouched. Grey couldn't tell which of the oozing welts were new and which had been there before. In looking him over, he saw those weren't the only wounds, but the gash in the sleeve of his hooded sweatshirt couldn't have been from just then. Grey pulled the fabric and saw the flesh underneath was whole.

"When did that happen?" he wondered aloud.

Dave put his hand back to his face. "The basement. I told you… weird stuff happened. There was this-."

"Later," Grey said, cutting him off. "Can you continue?"

"I guess so."

"Good." Grey immediately moved on. The pipes that had burst prematurely had, by then, nothing left to spew forth. There were gaping wounds left where the overzealous specters had ripped them apart, but the pipes had nothing left to bleed and the fragments of plaster remained on the floor. Even so, he skirted the gouges torn in the wall nervously. Grey moved a little faster towards the door at the end of the hall, room 310. It had to be the one, if only because the closer they got, the more the hotel seemed to erupt into violence. It was also the last door, leading to what was more than likely the hotel's best suite, so it had to be. That was always how it worked. The item was always in the last place searched. Dave hurried after him, staying so close that several times Grey felt his boots brush his heels. He perhaps couldn't blame him, even if he risked tripping because of it. The door opened easily and quietly when Grey tried it. He expected something more ominous or at least fitting with the madness all around them.

He got it once they stepped inside. Grey caught a glimpse of blackened floorboards and a far too open view of the night sky before the image pulsed. There was a rush of wind, and suddenly he was standing in a very stately suite from half a century ago. The sad and burnt reality lingered just a moment before it melted into the image of its former glory. The carpet was pristine, the walls were whole, and daylight streamed in from the windows.

"Oh my god," Dave gasped.

Grey was immensely grateful to know it wasn't just in his own head. He stared at the windows in bemusement. The light pouring through was as bright as day. He'd forgotten what that looked like. He moved into one of the beams throw across the lush carpet, but he felt no warmth. There was nothing to see beyond outside the windows but a blur of white, putting Grey in mind of a movie set. The Beast was not fooled. It wasn't real, it wasn't sunlight, it couldn't destroy them. Grey put his hand against the window and felt glass as cold as one would expect to feel in the middle of the night. Even so, his skin looked very pale in the false sunlight. He pushed back his sleeve and found his veins stood out more than he ever noticed before. Blue lines in porcelain, as if he were ever that delicate. He might be, as cracked as he was. It could be what he saw was another part of the illusion, but if that was the case he should have looked livelier and Dave would have looked... less hideous. It was it painful to think of how much he might have changed, that the words Dave had flung at him back in the sewers were true. He was lightly tracing one of his veins when Dave called out to him.

"Here it is!"

Grey looked over just as Dave picked something up from an end table at the far side of the room. It was lovely pendant, one that was in good condition and just slightly on the gaudy side. The moment Dave held it aloft the illusion melted away. In an instant it was night again and the room was in ruins. Much of the walls had been burned away, giving them a nice view of the ocean and the night sky beyond. There was a very large gap between in the center of the room and Dave was standing on the other side of it. The floor had been whole in the illusion, but then if none of it was real how had Dave managed to get across the room? None of it made sense, even to Grey.

In keeping near the room's entrance Grey was left standing at what little remained of the floor. Dave was at the other part. The remnants of support beams had fallen to the floor below. It might be possible to leave the hotel by jumping down, but they had what they came for and Grey had seen more than enough of what a small cadre of restless spirits could do if vexed. Dave was standing at the edge of his side of the gap, staring down at the room beneath with what was becoming a very familiar expression of fear. Grey could only hope that ridiculous fear of heights would die away in time, perhaps once the reality of his condition sank in a little more. Dave looked up at him helplessly, and Grey pointed at the massive hole in the wall. He wasn't about to give the resident spirits another chance with them, especially when the human distractions were likely gone by then.

"You've gotta be kidding," Dave said. "We're three stories up!"

"Then jump down and _then_ jump out," Grey said. He did the exact thing himself while Dave was still sputtering an attempt at protesting. It was likely a waste of vitae to fortify his resilience for the jump, but the last thing he wanted was to give Dave's fears any justification. He didn't particularly want to break anything more, either. Unfortunately, in all the excitement of getting attacked at nearly every turn, Grey had forgotten about the blood he had lost to Dave back in the sewers. He remembered once he felt the distinct gnawing in his insides. He would have been much worse off if he hadn't gorged himself the night before, but thinking of the slaughter only reminded him of how badly he'd lost himself that night.

He was too weary to try and hold Dave's hand through another jump, so once he hit the ground outside the hotel he simply kept walking. There was just enough space between the building and the cliffs to discourage guests from truly spectacular leaps to their death, but Grey had a feeling that one good earthquake was all it would take to send the hotel itself plunging into the ocean. Then it would truly live up to his name. He had almost reached the corner when he heard footsteps behind him. Grey smiled but didn't bother to look back.

"That was low," Dave said.

"It's the only way you'll learn," Grey said blithely.

They continued on in silence until they reached the front of the hotel.

"How's your face?" Grey asked.

"Look, I'm really sick of… Oh, right, that. It'll heal right?

"Given time. And blood."

"You're doing it again, y'know."

Grey glanced back. "Doing what?"

Dave grinned at him, showing far too many teeth. "Talking normal, I mean."

"There's little room left in my head for pretty words. I'll surely suffer for it later."

"What's the matter?"

Grey cursed his lose tongue, while at the same time a chorus of mocking laughter rose in his own mind. "I wouldn't dream of burdening you with my own overstocked thoughts." He gestured vaguely at the night sky. "Can't very well unload when the night is dying."

"I should just stop pointing that out, shouldn't I?"

"Probably."

There was a small section torn in the fence that was no doubt used by countless urban explorers before them. Outside, the hotel appeared unchanged. No spectral fires burned, no faces peered out from the windows. The construction area looked as mundane as it had before, though Grey hadn't paid much attention to the equipment that sat abandoned amongst the chunks of pavement. The crew could have very well left the keys in them in their haste to flee the haunted place. The thought alone sparked a number of nasty, destructive ideas. There was no time to see if the keys were actually there, and just as Grey acknowledged it he wondered what made him think that would be a good idea in the first place. He shook his head as though that could fully jar such unpleasantness from his mind. It likely wouldn't be the last time such things occurred to him, given time he might even cease to worry or question them. His mood was only sinking deeper into the black. Worse, if Dave hadn't suspected something was off before, he did now.

Did he know? Was Grey's madness worse than even he could comprehend? Was it that obvious to others? His chest constricted in a half-forgotten response to panic. He was thankful he didn't have the breath to betray his anxiety. Even so, he wondered how much he could have slipped without ever realizing. Being harassed by the ghost of himself was new, and he wasn't exactly in the habit of slaughtering entire households, however unsavory they might be. None of it looked good.

Spidery fingers lightly touched his shoulder, tearing him away from his thoughts when his own attempts had failed.

"Look," Dave whispered.

Grey looked to where he pointed, across the rock strewn yard to where a small group was moving. They were more or less shielded by the massive pile of gravel dumped around the manhole, but curiosity kept Grey from taking cover. He forced his vision to heighten to the point that he could easily make out the three figures from a distance. He recognized Michael, who was being helped to hobble away from the building by two others, a man and a woman. A girl, one who was sixteen at the very most, was trailing a few paces behind them, an overstuffed bag slung over her shoulder. The way she struggled to walk with it was almost comical, but it was hard to focus on any one member of the group for very long. The impressions each resonated were jarring when they mixed together, Grey could feel it even from the distance. The voices in his head likewise all babbled excitedly about each of them at once. Agony and ecstasy, the fallen and the destined. No hope, they said, there was no hope for any of them, but then in the next instant they said there might be a chance for one. Laughter, it always ended in laughter. Grey never understood the joke. It was enough that he kept himself from whispering some of what was spoken aloud.

"Do you think they see us?" Dave said. He'd had the sense to crouch out of sight, at least. Grey should have had the same.

Grey shrugged. He didn't bother mentioning that as he watched the group slowly made their exit he saw Michael looking their way. Neither of the two carrying him noticed as they half-led, half dragged him through the tracks of many machines and workers. Michael stared but said nothing, surprisingly enough, but on second thought they were all a little too beaten for further confrontations. When he tired of the exchange Grey looked on to the others. The woman on Michael's left was strikingly beautiful, with very dark skin and high cheekbones that seemed familiar in a way Grey could not place. The black and purple dress she wore likewise nagged him, as if he should recognize it, but the chorus of whispering that still buzzed through his mind was no help. The Baron's daughter, one sighed, how regal she was. That, he assumed, was Lucretia. The man on his right, then, must have been Wesley. The bandage on his head was proof enough of that. He had the sweet face of a teen idol, inoffensive and handsome. The dark circles under his eyes were the only outward sign of the terrible addiction he called his muse. Images flitted through his mind, of angels and skulls and beautiful women with syringe fingers. They were gone as quickly as they intruded upon his thoughts, leaving him only with more vague impressions. Grey was lucky to sift that much out of the cacophony. There were too many voices, too much to know about them. All of it was a tangled mess that, if nothing else, kept him from thinking too much about his own problems. Four of them were hard to read all at once, just as four of them would be hard to fight, making it a small blessing they were moving away. He had no idea what they were capable of, even after all he'd heard. They had, if nothing else, gotten passed the fence in some other manner than the gap Grey and Dave had slipped through.

"Mages…" Grey whispered. It was like finding an incredibly rare and intriguing species of animal, and then just letting it walk away. Did they even know they were pulling at strings that were already unraveling? If he told them what he saw, would they believe it anymore than his own kind? He wanted to talk to them, to ask them so many things. He wanted to pick them apart, see how the worked, and see if they knew themselves well enough to put everything back together. They likely didn't, and what a mess that would be. That last image jarred him, like salt poured on an open wound. There was no time to chase such rare and elusive creatures, not when half the whisperings he culled spoke or screamed of danger. He looked at his bandage hand and remembered he had to work on putting himself back together before anything. He felt the weight of the gun in his waistband as was reminded he had a new and deadly friend that he did not know what to do with. Even so, it was good to have such a tool at his disposal. It could make people listen when all words failed, and the idea of that made him smile.

"Grey?" Dave said.

Grey turned to look at him, remembering too late to let his vision slip back to normal. There were more unpleasant nooks and crannies to Dave's visage than he ever imaged. He recoiled, looked away, and when he looked back there was the familiar mix of hurt and confusion on Dave's face.

"They're leaving, don't worry," Grey said, however belated his reassurance was. "We should follow their example and hurry."

He patted Dave's back as they walked around the rubble to the manhole, a feeble attempt to make up for that moment of disgust. The silence that followed worried him, until at last Dave spoke up.

"They could have killed us," he said. He pulled the cover up without even a little straining. How could he put that together yet still not know his own strength?

"Yes." Grey was too distracted to say much more.

"That guy… the one with the cross. He still could have done something, right?"

"Perhaps. If he wasn't so set on getting his miracle… burning us in holy fire and all."

"He could do that?" Dave down the ladder.

"It's possible." Grey, after following him, had difficultly even sliding the cover back.

Dave waited until he joined him at the bottom of the ladder before saying, "Why didn't he?"

"Lack of faith, mostly." Grey looked at Dave. "And no on expects the monsters to try plead or reason with them. You threw him even further, my friend. "

"Okay… But, seriously, do you think they'll come after us? Later?"

"We'll see."

Silence fell in step between them as they moved through the gate that led into the main sewer system. Grey felt, for once, they might be worrying about the same thing.

They made it inside the club just in time for last call. The music stopped just as Grey stepped inside. Odd timing, he told himself, nothing more. Without the pounding beat filling the air there was a distinct feeling of urgency throughout the club. Now was when all the unwanted finally had their chance to go home with the drunk and desperate souls that remained. The bartender spotted them amongst the flurry of last minute orders and hookups and pointed to the elevator with an irritated expression. They were late, but they were also expected. Trusting Dave was keeping close and out of sight, Grey skirted around the small crowd that had migrated from the dance floor to the bar, moving quickly lest someone set their sights on him. He'd had more than enough feminine attention for one night. Being dead, granted, meant he didn't need it at all, but there were times, thanks to Jeanette, that he forgot himself. He couldn't keep doing that.

The elevator was waiting for them, and as soon as the doors closed Dave appeared at his side.

"That was how she got me," Dave said. His distant tone gave more insight to his mood than his expression could.

"Who?"

"My Sire… That's what you call it, right? She picked me up at a place like this. I was drunk, she said a few things, we left together… And that was it."

The elevator came to a halt with a cheerful ding that cut the painful reminiscing short. Grey knew what Dave was talking about, he had seen part of it, he even vaguely knew his Sire. To mention any of that would call attention back to the fact he had also been the one to pass along the secret of Dave's unauthorized existence. He didn't want to see what a second go through that would lead them to, so the sooner that slipped from memory the better. More than anything he was afraid that it would drag out the question of what other things he saw. He wasn't ready for that yet.

As he stepped out behind Dave Grey noticed he avoided the mirror's reflection. Grey looked if only to make sure what he saw reflected was him. He never noticed how sunken the lights made his eyes look, but that was still nothing compared to how bad Dave looked. He felt a little guilty that the comparison cheered him, but it could always be worse. Even Dave was lucky, in a warped way. There were some Nosferatu whom were hit particularly hard by the curse, but telling him wouldn't help. There was no time for that, in any case.

"Dave, wait," Grey said.

Dave was just reaching for the door when he said it. He turned back and said, "What? I don't hear any fighting this time."

"It's not that." Grey stepped forward and drew the gun from his waistband. "I'll deal with Therese and Jeanette."

Dave's eyes widened. "You don't mean…"

Grey rolled his eyes and held the gun out to him before he could finish with his assumption. "I'll trade you."

"Look, I can handle this myself."

"No, you can't. It doesn't matter who's in, they're going to try and use you again."

"What? But I just… we just-"

Grey put his bandaged hand on Dave's shoulder to shut him up. "It's just what Kindred do. Everything is favors. Everything. Those who don't know the rules find themselves drowning before they even know what waters they're in."

Even as he spoke Dave took the pedant from his pocket. He gave Grey an odd look before he held it over. "So you're saying if you handle this for me, I'd owe you?"

It was admirable how quickly he caught on. Grey hesitated to respond. Just by helping Dave, again and again, he could easily leave him so indebted that he'd spend the rest of his unlife repaying him, and yet…

"No, Dave. We're friends. We're even."

Part of him loathed to say that. What was worse, the part that had sworn to never stoop to such petty games was mysteriously absent. He had joined the Anarchs thinking he could be free, only to find out it was all the same no matter the side. Now, as with so many other things, he found he had accepted it and played along without ever realizing he'd made the choice. The least he could do was give Dave a better chance. He was greatly hindered as it was.

Dave gingerly took the gun from him, and Grey received the pendant as though it too was loaded. The thing was covered in memories he did not want to know about, but just touching it made a chill run up the length of his arm. He turned toward the door, eager to get rid of the thing as quickly as possible.

"What're you gonna do?" Dave asked.

"I'm going to throw myself against the rocks."

"That's not some kooky way of saying you're going to sleep with Jeanette, is it?"

Grey glared at him.

Dave backed away. "Okay, okay, sorry for asking. I'll be waiting."

Grey nodded and stepped inside.


	17. Keep Wondering

**Chapter 17: Keep Wondering**

It was a lot easier to listen through a door when the people on the other side were yelling. No such luck after Grey stepped inside. Dave pressed his ear against the door, but the noise from the air conditioner made it hard to make out anything but who was speaking. He heard footsteps moving across the room, and then it was impossible to make anything. All he could do after that was stand back up and wait. He hadn't noticed how tiny and cramped the hall was before. It was just a tiny space between the office and elevator that seemed like it made to make anyone waiting nervous. There was a newspaper on the table beside the mirror, but it'd be too weird to see how life in the normal world was going. The front page news wasn't very encouraging. There was murder on the pier and scandal on the '04 campaign trail. Same shit, even after he died. Had his obituary been printed yet? He stopped himself before he could look. Seeing how his life had been summarized wouldn't help anything.

He paced around the room a little, but it was so small that it only took two steps before he had to turn around again. His face wouldn't stop hurting, which made it difficult to concentrate on anything else. He could still feel the heat from where the steam had hit him, and the fresh boils were already oozing. The combined sensations of warmth and wetness were almost as unnerving as the twitching he still felt happening in his guts now and again, but the twitching was much easier to ignore. He couldn't keep avoiding the mirror, but thanks to trying to keep his eyes away from it he found a ring lying on the floor in the corner. He slipped it in his pocket, but after that there wasn't anything left to do besides look in the mirror and survey the damage.

Dave sucked in a breath when he saw how bad it was, turned out he actually could look worse. There were red streaks across his face where the steam had hit, but it was hard to tell which boils were from that and which had been there to start with. He worried about how much blood it would take to heal that. He'd done it before, earlier that night when he was down in the hotel's basement. He wished Grey had listened to that, because crazy shit seemed to be his specialty. Dave kept trying to tell himself the entire time he was down there that he had nothing to be afraid of, not when _he_ was something people would run screaming in terror from. Then he saw the lady in white run down one of the hallways like somebody was after her. It got worse once he found the laundry room and one of the dryer doors squeaked open on its own. The worst, up until he rejoined Grey, was when he got inside the boiler room and saw some guy creeping around one of the boilers. Dave was a nervous wreck by that point. He wouldn't have run around the corner to confront the maniac if not for that. Of course as soon as he did he saw there was nobody there. He laughed it off, flipped the power back on, and then everything went haywire. The first bolt that hit him sliced up his sleeve and his arm, but the good thing was it made him think about crawling out of the damn place. Thanks to that he made it out without taking any other damage, but he still had to heal the cut. As he stared at himself in the mirror he wondered how much he could heal before he'd start to feel really hungry again. How the hell was he supposed to know exactly how much blood he had left in him? Was it possible to burn it all until there was nothing left in his veins? What would happen then? More questions he'd have to bother Grey about later.

"Worth a shot," he said.

He concentrated, even if he still wasn't exactly sure how the healing process worked, and within seconds the red marks started to fade. It took a lot more effort than the cut on his shoulder, and when it was done he felt the hunger more acutely than before. That figured. He poked at the boils that were left, but those apparently counted as normal. Dave stuck his tongue out at his reflection, which meant grazing all those fangs. He'd forgotten about the nasty purple color it had turned, and when the door opened he nearly bit it in surprise. He turned around just as Grey stepped out into the hall. He looked grim.

"What's wrong?" Dave asked.

"The feud is over," Grey said. He moved passed him to open the elevator doors. "I know where Tung is."

Dave followed him inside. "Isn't that good?"

"The price was more than I could afford." Grey spoke in a monotone.

"What'd you have to do?" Dave pushed the button for the first floor since Grey just kept staring at it.

"I'll find out when they want to redeem it."

"They? They were both there?"

"I had to go through Jeanette to get to Therese, yes. They hate that."

"But what did you say?"

The elevator came to a halt. "It doesn't matter. Now, hide."

The way Grey explained things didn't make much sense to Dave. Once they were in a place they could talk safely, which turned out to be an alley, he was back to speaking in riddles. He paced restlessly and went on and on about the history he had with Jeanette and Therese, how he'd tried to keep his distance thanks to something Jeanette had done to him. He mentioned shackles and leashes, but Dave wasn't certain if he meant that figuratively or if there was some weird S&M angle involved. When Dave pressed him on it, he said something about being bound in blood, but he wouldn't elaborate beyond that. Dave was afraid to see what would happen if he kept asking.

Despite what Grey had said before about them being even, Dave felt like he owed him a lot. Whatever Grey was going to have to do for the twins was all because of him. It was hard not to feel guilty. What was worse, the capable, remotely sane Grey he'd dealt with back in the hotel seemed to be crumbling with them out of danger. By the time Grey was done pacing Dave was left with a senseless tangle that involved baronies, boons, prodigals, and other words that he wasn't sure about the meanings of. The more Grey spoke, the more agitated he got, and the more agitated he got the less he made sense. He kept talking, but he seemed barely aware that Dave was standing a few feet away from him. Whenever Dave tried to bring him back to something relevant, like where Bertram was, Grey answered without even seeming aware who had asked. Bertram, it turned out, was hiding in the oil field across town. He began to mutter, over and over, that he had to go home, that he had to re-center, but when Dave asked where home was Grey shook his head again.

"I can't say," Grey said. Something dragged his attention to the alley wall, which he stared out for several seconds. "Too many ears, why are there so many ears?"

"It's just us, Grey," Dave said.

Grey laughed. "No, it never is. It's never even just _me_."

And to think he'd seemed pretty sane for a while there. Maybe whatever had passed between him and Therese- or Jeanette, or whoever he'd spoken to- had upset him enough to send him into another fit. He picked a hell of a time to lose it again.

"The Last Round," Grey finally said. "Ask for me there."

That would have made as little sense to Dave as everything else if not for what Jack had told him before. The raised the question of whether or not Grey knew him, but when he turned to ask Dave found he was staring up at the sky.

"Tonight was a good night," Grey sighed. "A clear night."

Dave looked up. The sky was cloudy. It had been all night.

"I should go," Grey said, patting his pocket. "I have just enough to make my flight quick."

"Are you sure?" Dave asked.

Grey just smiled in response and turned to walk out of the alley.

"Okay… Goodnight."

As Dave slipped out of sight, he reminded himself that Grey had to be at least functionally crazy if he'd survived five years like that. He was lucky, at least he got to have lucid periods. That must have been what he meant by clear. Dave doubted he'd have nights when he looked more human. He brooded on that on the walk home. He kept thinking about what had Grey had done in all those years until the sun rose and took his mind off everything.

Dave checked his e-mail as soon as he woke up and found nothing but a few new pieces of spam. He didn't know what he was expecting. He never told Grey his e-mail address and even then it was probably too early for him to be up. He still didn't understand how that worked. It seemed like all vampires could just wake up as soon as the sun set. He could waste an entire evening trying to figure out all the nuances of vampire life, or unlife, or whatever it was supposed to be called, but he had to see Bertram. He found a ragged backpack lying in the corner of the room, which he used to stuff the explosives in. He took the gun from the kitchen counter as an afterthought. He had no idea how to handle a pistol, but he did at least know to check the safety before bringing it with him. It was unpleasant, but he might need it. The sooner he could get rid of the stuff, the better, but after what he'd been through he had a bad feeling he wasn't going to be able to just unload them on someone. He had to prove his worth, or prove he could handle whatever they threw at him. He was beginning to doubt things would ever get easy. Grey said everything in vampire society worked off favors, and it seemed like he was anybody's meat when it came to running shit errands. Worse, with Grey back to wherever he called home he was back to doing it alone. At least Grey knew what he was doing. It was nice to have someone to help him along, even if that someone was pretty badly touched in the head. Dave didn't even know how he was going to find something to eat that night. It was hard to say if already thinking of people as snacks was a bad thing, but he'd just have to keep wondering. The alley outside the apartment entrance was empty when he stepped outside. Apparently he was also going to have to go hungry. The only other people out were on the sidewalk, where it was well lit and he had no chance.

He closed his eyes, tried not to think of all the blood that was just a short distance away, and concentrated on painting himself out of the picture. He still didn't trust the surreal feeling to mean it worked until after he stepped out on to the sidewalk, that was the only way to know for certain.

No one gasped, no one screamed, no one even saw him. He'd done it again. Dave was so pleased with himself that he didn't notice someone was coming until the woman was right next to him. He froze as she skirted around him. She was blonde, and tan, and dressed nice. Way out of his league, even back when he still breathed. She passed so close he could smell her perfume. He couldn't have just reached out and touched her, he could have licked her if he wanted. She walked around him like he was just an obstacle in her path, a thing not worth any notice at all. It was all because he wanted it that way. No, it was more like it _had_ to be that way if he wanted to keep his head. He'd succeeded, he was safe, and for some reason it made him feel very depressed.

He understood when he watched the woman turn the corner. He never realized how completely he'd been cut from the herd until that moment. He couldn't touch the girl, or anyone, unless it involved dragging them into a dark alley to feed on them. He couldn't even pretend that he was a normal person. He started walking, and just like with the woman, everyone he passed moved out of the way without ever showing signs they knew why. The effect wasn't as cool as it used to be. He worried that every person that passed him when suddenly turn and look at him, or that he'd trip and fall into one of them if he didn't watch himself. He concentrated hard on where he put his feet, on who was around him, and but the time he made it to the fence surrounding the abandoned oil field his nerves were shot again. The sign hanging on the lamppost was so badly rusted it was hard to make out what company used to own all those tanks. All he knew was that when it moved in the wind it made a horrible groaning noise that put him even more on edge. It reminded him too much of the hotel, and the ghosts. How many other places could be haunted in LA? Tons, likely, and here was another good candidate.

He was going to have to get past the gate if he wanted inside. He didn't see a lock, but he was going to expose himself regardless of whether he went through or over it. Nobody was around, so he decided to just be quick.

The gate slid open easily, but as soon as it did Dave was hit by a sickening lurch that came with feeling like a spotlight had suddenly been shined on him. The gate slid closed once he stepped inside, and Dave glanced back to see there was still no one in sight to ruin things. He moved quickly across the yard anyway, his boots sounding incredibly loud even across the dirt and weeds. He had no idea how anyone could hide out amongst all those empty tanks until he neared the back of the yard. A hole had rusted in the side of one, and light was coming from inside. He approached the hole cautiously, but he couldn't make out any sound beside his own thunderous footsteps. His technique needed a lot of work. Once he was inside he was surprised to find the empty tank was furnished. A laptop was sitting on an old cable spool, and someone was sitting on the coach in the middle of the room. The man's threadbare clothes registered before his face did, and when he looked up Dave was stunned by what he saw.

"Look who finally made it," the Nosferatu said. His voice rivaled Dave's own in the unpleasant and gravely department. "Thought you'd never find me, huh?"

The Nosferatu grinned at him, showing a mouth full of jagged, yellow teeth. Dave couldn't be certain if the lumps on his bald skull were massive boils or the result of a misshapen cranium. His eyes were the worst, black with red irises that seemed to glow in the weak lamplight. It was hard not to stare. They might have shared the same ugliness, but the first Nosferatu he'd seen since his sire died. He probably should have felt something like kinship, but being almost used to the sight of his own face still didn't make seeing others like him any easier.

"You're Bertram Tung?" Dave asked.

"The one and only." Bertram waved a hand before Dave could give his own name. He couldn't help noticing his fingers looked remotely normal. "Don't bother with the introductions, fledgling. I know who you are."

"You do?"

"News travels down the Kindred grapevine like wildfire. That courtroom spat between LaCroix and Nines Rodriguez is a juicy little morsel." Bertram rose from the couch and moved over to him. He circled Dave like one dog sizing another up, which made him incredibly nervous. That only seemed to amuse Bertram. "And then there's the little matter of the clan Whip, of all people, ending up on the chopping block for siring without permission. Josie-who-could-do-no-wrong goes and embraces _you_." He stopped gave Dave the once over yet again. "Very interesting."

"I don't understand."

"Ah, yeah, you're new to this whole thing, aren't you? You'll learn all the cute little names for things in time. The Whip is the right-hand of the Primogen, and before you ask, the Primogen is the one in charge of the clan in the area. The Nosferatu around LA just happen to be plentiful enough that it's justified. LaCroix was happen to see her ashed, I'm sure."

"You knew her? My sire, I mean?"

Bertram snorted and turned away. "I dealt with her now and again. Fancied herself the public face of the clan." He laughed curtly as he flopped back down on the couch. "Of course, pulling that off meant she had to put on a different face. She was good at that sort of thing. Quintessential Skin, that one."

"Skin?"

"Our word for clan members who hide from what they are with pretty masks. Her type generally doesn't last long. They get overzealous, try and pretend to be the wrong person, and get caught. She was good, though… So good I couldn't say who exactly she impersonated over the years."

Dave was dragged back to the night of his embrace, and the beautiful woman he'd met at the bar. There wasn't even a hint of what was lurking underneath that illusion until they were alone and she showed him. He should have remembered that before, should have known there was more than one way to hide in plain sight, but how did she do it? Asking Bertram would have seemed too obvious, but the question must have been written all over his face.

"Oh, yeah," Bertram said. "Practice enough and you could do it too. It's not my thing, personally. All it takes is a camera to see right through the disguise. Anyway, Josie's dead, which is still something of a shocker, and you're here, which I expected, so let's let the dead lie and get down to business, shall we? There'll be plenty of time for questions later."

"If I survive, you mean," Dave said.

"You catch on quick. I like that."

Dave slid the backpack off his shoulder and held it up. He wasn't sure how volatile astrolite was, but he didn't want to risk finding out by flinging it around. "What am I supposed to do with this?"

"Hopefully LaCroix's mentioned the warehouse." He peered at Dave, and Dave not to show that he couldn't exactly remember if he had. "Anyway, I've been watching the place. The Sabbat has a bunch of lowlife humans working day and night to move stuff through there. There's some major staging going on."

"Just humans?" Dave lowered his arm and, very gently, laid the backpack down on the floor.

"As far as I can tell. The humans seem to know the score, from the way they've been talking. I think most of them have aspirations of joining the next graduating class of shovelheads." Bertram rolled his eyes. "Losers."

"But what are shovelheads?"

Bertram scratched one of the huge boils over his eye. "The Sabbat has some pretty fucked up initiation rites, fledgling. The way I hear it, it goes like this: They dig a few holes, line up the new recruits, and then they use the same shovels they dug with to beat them senseless before they throw them in. After the buried those starving, beaten vampires have to dig their way out. Even then, the ones that make it out of that will survive maybe a week, tops. Shovelheads are just cannon fodder to the Sabbat."

Dave didn't know what to say to that. The whole process sounded horrific, but to him it didn't seem like there could be anything much worse than what he'd gone through while he was chained to that bedpost. The memories of all the pain, and seeing his face melting, still haunted him. And his insides were still twitching. He put a hand to his stomach as, right on cue, it felt like something lurched in there.

"And those people _want_ that to happen to them? They tell them that?"

"All they get to know is they're working for vampires and they might get to join the club if they're good. The average life expectancy is all in the fine print. The Sabbat like everyone to know just who they're dealing with. So if you get in there and have to bust a few heads? Don't fell bad, think of it as 'upholding the Masquerade', heh."

Dave didn't relish the idea of having to fight anybody. "Okay… So can you take me there?"

Bertram smiled again. "Yes I can, but what about your Malk friend? Is he sitting this one out?"

Dave was so taken aback he didn't even think about trying to deny it. "How did you know?"

"Like I said, fledgling, word travels. Besides, there's no one else I can think of who could just get Therese to call off the feud like that out of the blue."

"Why?"

"Why don't you ask him yourself, since you're such good friends?" Bertram gave him another one of those annoying piercing looks. "You're very lucky, you know. Do you have any idea what the odds of someone you knew in life ending up a vampire are? Incredibly low, unless you do something stupid like embrace them yourself."

Dave stared at him in renewed shock. He felt like he was missing something there, but it was bad enough that everyone apparently already knew everything about both him and Grey. "Can we just go?"

"Of course. But once we're there, ho3wever, you're on your own. You'll have to get into the place and plant the explosives in the middle office to take the whole structure down."

"I can do that," Dave said, giving Bertram a hard look. "By myself, even."

"I know you can." Bertram stood, still looking more amused than he had any right to be. "Now, let's get going."

Dave picked up the explosives and followed him outside. He was very afraid of what was to come.


	18. Losing Time

((1-27-08 – So after another long hiatus the adventures of Dave and Grey continue. It's been a weird year, with not one but two computer crashes, among other problems. That, and I wasn't sure how to continue until now. I've come to terms with the fact this is going to be a very long story, even if you've more or less heard it before. If you've read this far and like it, please comment. It's good to know that other people actually enjoy this train wreck.))

**Chapter 18: Losing Time**

"Do you ever think about that night?"

Grey wasn't quite awake when the question filtered through his mind. He didn't want to wake. Oblivion was preferable to the white noise that invaded his thoughts as long as he was awake. The whispering started first, soon more voices would follow. He put a pillow over his head to no avail. It didn't shut out the first voice either.

"Well, do you?"

Grey threw the pillow at what he thought to be the source. When he opened his eyes, the pillow was lying against the wall, and Paul was standing in front of it with his arms crossed. The sight of him was always unnerving, even more so than melting walls or oceans of shadow that had been commonplace in his visions lately. There was the man Grey used to be, alive and sane. His skin was ruddy, his eyes lacked the unhealthy gleam Grey's had, and his smile made it clear he was proud of this. Grey couldn't remember ever being such an asshole. Someone's dying screams tore through his mind, a sharp reminder of how little he needed to be haunted by himself right now. The cobweb was pulsing even more than usual. He rose from the bed, resisting the urge to put a hand to his temple. He didn't want to give Paul the satisfaction. The noise would not stop, no matter what he did.

The scene shifted abruptly before Grey could demand the apparition leave. The hateful words died in his throat as the walls went from white to dingy blue. A chunk of plaster fell out of the wall, and Grey remembered it as being the result of a particularly bad job interview. Framed photographs appeared, some of Dave's half-hearted attempts at artistic photography. Grey wondered why they never covered the hole. The room itself shifted and changed shape, and suddenly Grey was standing in the living room of an apartment he hadn't thought about in years. Late afternoon sunlight poured in from the window that he knew was behind him, but it did nothing to stir the Beast. Grey closed his eyes, but when he opened them he was still in the old apartment. He was still standing in the middle of the room, and in the moment he had futilely tried to banish it the memory had only fleshed itself out further. Dave was sitting cross legged on the floor with dozens of glossy photos spread out around him. He selected one from the mess and held it up.

"What about this one? You can kind of make out a nipple, but she looks pissed. They like candid shots better, but I guess they could use it for one of those 'stars on the edge' articles."

Grey knew Dave wasn't speaking him, but the other him, the one who wasn't paying any attention. He turned to face the memory of himself, who was too busy rifling through desk drawers to look over. "It's fantastic. You'll make a fortune."

The laptop on the desk showed a word processor document with only one sentence typed. Grey couldn't remember what it said, and even as he leaned closer the words remained blurry. His old self ignored him and kept digging through the desk drawers, his searching growing more frantic with each one he tried.

"Lost your _muse_ again?" Dave asked.

Grey had forgotten how normal Dave looked when he was alive. He always imagined him as being scrawnier than he actually was. The truth was Dave was in excellent shape- he had to be to dodge the inherent hazards in his line of work, like angry bodyguards. He was never good looking though. There was nothing wrong with his face, he was just painfully average. The best anyone could do to describe him as was 'Asian' or, if they were more informed, 'Korean'. A forty dollar hair cut involving lots of gel couldn't help that, nor could trendy clothes. That was still a thousand times better than his present incarnation.

"I know, I know!" Grey's past self said. He slammed the last desk drawer shut and stood up. "Loads of toxins, years off my life, cancer, lots of cancer. I got it. I got it the last four times!" He turned back and kicked the desk leg. "I just bought a pack, damn it!"

Grey stared at himself. Maybe he _was_ a jerk in life, or maybe it was just the nicotine withdraw talking.

"You already went through them all," Dave said. He didn't look up from the photos. He selected another, examined the celebrity that was slightly out of focus in it, and threw it back in the pile. Grey's past self had the decency to step over the mess of photos on his way towards the door.

"Y'know," Dave said. "Now would be the perfect opportunity to try to quit."

Grey's former self plucked his keys off the rack by the door. "Right, but if I went mad from withdraw and killed you in your sleep, who would pay your half of the rent?"

"That's real considerate, man."

Grey's past self sighed. "Sorry, sorry, it's just…" He shook his head, and Grey knew it was because he was unable to put 'hopelessly addicted' into a sentence. "Forget it. You want anything while I'm out?"

Dave turned his attention back to the photos. "Bring me back some tacos."

"Right. Be right back."

Grey's past stepped out, and as he passed over the threshold the entire scene faded away. Grey was left standing in darkness. Paul was nowhere to be seen, but that didn't mean anything.

"Man, oh man," Paul said. "Do you think he ever thought about that? Five years, and the last thing he said to you- up until now, of course- was 'bring me back some tacos.' Heh."

"I can't know his thoughts," Grey muttered.

"Right, right… but do you ever think about how you drove all the way to fucking Santa Monica to get a pack of cigarettes?"

The question took Grey by surprise. He'd truly never thought about that.

"Or…" Paul said. The scene was changing again. The sound of waves surrounded Grey before the beach itself did. "Did you ever think of what possessed you to take a walk on the beach that night?"

"No…"

Grey tried desperately to think of what was going through his head that night, but he was a different person then. And the workings of a sane mind, even his own, felt foreign. Even as he watched himself walk down the beach, a lit cigarette in hand, he couldn't think of what it was like not to be constantly plagued by visions and voices. He envied his past self in that moment, but he knew what was coming. His past self clearly paying much attention to where he was walking, but even so he was drawn inexorably to the man who was standing in the surf. The man's back was turned, and so all Grey could see was a mane of messy blonde hair.

"I don't want to see this," he said, turning away.

"Fine, you coward," Paul sighed. "Let's just cut right to the aftermath."

Grey was suddenly knocked on to his back. The world shifted dizzily, and suddenly he was no longer watching the memory, he was in the midst of it. He tried to hold on to the thought that this was just a dream of something that had happened years ago, but panic still took hold of him as he lie there in the sand. The stars were too bright, and they were winking malevolently at him. They knew all his secrets. They knew things he couldn't comprehend, and they were _laughing_ at him. The roar of the waves became the howls of an angry beast that was always hungry and never sated, and the surf that rolled in over his bare feet was the tentative lick of its tongue. He wanted to move, but his limbs felt too heavy. His body was lead, but his mind was drifting far and fast through the ether. If he still breathed, his breaths would have come ragged and quick, but he didn't. He was trapped, captive beneath the stars.

"Oh dear god," a woman's voice said. He could not look to the speaker, but in a moment she was hovering over him. Her face was as pale as the moon, a stark contrast to her long, dark hair. _The Queen of the Night_, a voice whispered in his mind, but Grey could not open his mouth to address her as such.

"I have to admit," a man's voice said. "This isn't quite what I was expecting."

_Kitty, kitty, kitty… _The words overlapped with another phrase,_ Father's favorite scholar._

Grey closed his eyes. The voices would not stop, nor would the real ones just above him.

"This isn't funny!" The Queen snapped. Grey silently agreed.

"No, not by far… but he _did_ say he left something for us on the beach."

Grey opened his eyes. Both the Queen and the Scholar were standing over him now, mercifully blocking the cruel stars from his view. As he stared up at them, the Scholar removed his sunglasses. Gleaming cat's eyes stared back at him. Grey's own eyes widened, but he still could not move.

"He wouldn't do this," the Queen said vehemently. "It makes no sense."

"Think of whom we're speaking of," the Scholar said dryly.

"I think I know him better than you!" the Queen snapped. The Beast was in her voice, though Grey wasn't sure how he knew this. His head was filled with things he should not know, and they were all scrambling to be acknowledged.

The scholar held a hand up to placate the Queen. "Yes, of course, forgive me, I didn't mean it like that… What I meant is we'd both be hard pressed to understand his motivations and the best of times, considering. I'm sure there's a reason for this, even if we can't yet fathom it."

"Yeah? Whatever it is, I don't have time to baby-sit! I have work to do!"

"As do I… Though I'm sure it doesn't pay nearly as well."

"So what the hell do we do?"

"Well, Anarch rule still holds here, at least until someone arrives to declare themselves Prince. Perfect place to sire a childe without anyone's permission, actually."

The Queen muttered something obscene under her breath.

"I know someone who can take care of him."

"Who?"

The Scholar simply smiled.

The Queen opened her lovely mouth to argue, but something in the Scholar's smile stopped her. "Fine, whatever. Help me move him."

The beach and his two benefactors evaporated as soon as Grey was back on his feet. But he wasn't in darkness this time, nor was he back in his haven. Instead he was standing on the platform of an abandoned train station. Before him was what looked like a massive graveyard of box cars, yet the lights shining from one of the warehouses in the distance showed someone still had use for this place. A fire burning in a steel barrel a few yards away showed the derelicts had use for it too, and yet Grey was alone on the platform. He wasn't that hungry, anyway.

"What was the point of that?" Grey demanded.

"Just something to think about." Paul still refused to show himself.

Grey was struck with a feeling of foreboding that he could not explain, and the chorus in his head was not feeling helpful. Maybe it was just the fire… or something about fire… his thoughts kept going back to fire.

"Grey?" Dave appeared as he uttered the words, making Grey jump back. "What are you doing here?"

Grey was so disoriented he could only respond with, "What are _you_ doing here?"

Dave shifted uneasily and glanced over his shoulder. "Well, uh, you know that Astrolite I got before? Last night?"

There was a huge explosion in the distance, less than a mile from where they were standing. The ground shook as, in that instant, one of the warehouses bordering the train yard was reduced to flaming rubble. Grey gritted his teeth, resisting the urge to turn and flee from the sight of the fireball. There was no need, they were safe from the risk so much as a flaming piece of timber.

"Ah."

"Yeah… I kinda had to. Something about the Sabbat and weapons caches and stuff."

"Did any eyes fall upon you in this deed?" Grey tried to phrase it plainly, he really did, but fear won. Anyone could be listening. He had to be careful. He couldn't help but look down at his deformed hand. It had been normal when he was trapped in the flashback, and he was shocked to find he had five perfect normal fingers on it again. Mystified, he wiggled them. Everything worked fine, which made no sense. It took several nights and lots of vitae to re-grow bone… But Dave said 'last night'. Grey clung to the phrase, it showed he hadn't lost that much time… but how much of this night had he lost? What had he done to allow his hand to be reformed? He glanced up to find Dave was looking at him oddly. It was hard to know for certain what it meant with a face like his.

"Uh… I'm pretty sure nobody saw me. I mean, like, I can do this thing where as long as I don't want to be seen, people don't see me. Takes a lot of concentration."

"The best disguise is the world around you, true." Grey managed, with some difficulty, to stop staring at his hand. The full weight of what his friend was saying didn't hit until a moment later. Dave was a very quick study if he could already sneak around unseen, but maybe it came easier to Nosferatu. Grey didn't envy his skill, if anything he envied that Dave didn't struggle with his own abilities as he had. He knew he could potentially learn the same talent for concealment, but he was always afraid that if the shadows didn't swallow him whole, he would inadvertently remove himself completely from the perceptions of others. He didn't need that. Most already tried very hard to ignore him as it was, why give them the satisfaction? He glanced down at his hand again. It looked fine, which still disturbed him. It was normal, but it shouldn't be. He was healed, but at what cost? He couldn't even remember feeding.

"We should get out of here," Dave said.

Grey nodded. "Your words are like music. Let us shimmy on out."

He could hear Paul's snort of derision, even if he still couldn't see him.

There was an odd noise from above, stopping both of them in their tracks. Grey strained his hearing beyond normal levels to better make it out, only to be confused by what sounded like claws tapping rapidly on metal. His hearing returned to normal around the same time his mouth opened.

"Something-" but before he could get out a convoluted warning, that 'something' reached them. It was a very large, white wolf. While Dave and Grey stared, it gracefully leapt down from the closest box car to land between them. Grey looked to Dave, who thankfully saw it as well. So what he had seen before wasn't a hallucination, either. It wasn't reassuring to know, it only meant it had been following one of them- or both.

"Grey…" Dave said.

"Be still."

The wolf gave them both what looked like a very toothy grin before rearing up onto its rear legs. In the same instant its form shimmered and, faster than should have seemed possible, it changed.

Grey knew that face. He'd seen it hovering in his memory just moments before.

"Beckett," Grey said.

He wasn't particularly happy to see him.


	19. Beckett & Nines

**Chapter 19: Beckett & Nines**

It had been a very strange week. Dave was beginning to suspect that was going to be the norm for the rest of his miserable existence. He was very surprised to find Grey standing on the platform when he got back from the warehouse. He hadn't told him where he was going, he didn't even know how to get there before Bertram showed him. How could Grey have known? Why did he follow him?

The wolf showing up out of nowhere, and then turning into a man in a leather duster, wiped those thoughts from his mind. It also proved things could still get even weirder.

And then Grey called him by name.

"You know him?" Dave asked.

Grey nodded, not taking his eyes off the man, and Dave felt stupid for asking. There was some kind of history between them that he couldn't even imagine. There was about the new Grey that he didn't know. He didn't really understand many of the things he did know.

The wolf-man, Beckett, grinned before turning his attention to Dave. He didn't seem put off by his appearance at all.

"I don't believe we've had the pleasure…"

Dave stiffened as much as his twisted spine allowed. He could feel his eyes boring into him, even though they were hidden behind a pair of dark sunglasses. Who the hell wore sunglasses at night, anyway?

"Dave… Um, David Kim… Sir."

"Charmed, I'm sure." Beckett glanced over to the wreckage, now marked only by a cloud of smoke rising into the night sky. A wry smirk spread across his pale face as he looked back to Dave. "The warehouse… Your handiwork, I presume?"

"No!" He said it too quickly and too forcefully to make it sound the least bit convincing. Even Grey cringed. "I mean… Okay, yeah, it is."

"Impressive." Beckett chuckled. "Hopefully no Sabbat saw you escape. They can be somewhat… _antagonistic_. I'm sure Grey can attest to that."

"Um…" Dave looked to Grey, who looked grim at the mention of the Sabbat. Not good. Dave hadn't exactly thought about how the whole impromptu demolition thing would make the warehouse owners feel. He'd been too focus on the fact he had no choice but to carry through with it if he wanted out from under Lacroix's thumb. He wanted very badly to just turn and run. They were exposed, and the last thing Dave wanted was to find out if there were any survivors still around.

"It seems your path leads you in very wide circles," Grey said to Beckett.

Beckett recoiled, as if stung by the words, but the smirk was still firmly in place. "Believe me, childe, I had every intention of keeping my distance from the whole of California but, unfortunately, something came up. I just couldn't keep myself away. Tell me, have you- either of you- by chance seen or felt anything strange recently?"

Even though he'd addressed both of them, Beckett looked to Dave as he said it.

"Um, well…" He still wasn't sure if he believed half the things he'd seen since he died. After dealing with other Kindred besides Grey, he wasn't sure he wanted to talk about them to a complete stranger, either. "Not really."

"_Really_?" Beckett's shock was so fake it was insulting. "Nothing at all? How odd. You see, most of my contacts here report sensing something unusual in the night air- like a sense of dread, or pressure. But I'm not a native to these parts, so I can't tell if it's irregular." He glanced to Grey for a moment. "But since you're still fresh, perhaps you're not attuned to it."

"Blind as ever," Grey muttered. "You'll never see what you're looking for, even as it stares you in the face."

It was Dave's turn to cringe. Grey was acting like a rebellious teenager in front of a parent with Beckett. It was bizarre to watch and, knowing how Kindred could get, potentially disastrous.

"Grey…" Dave whispered.

"Oh, never mind it," Beckett said blithely. "He is, after all, his sire's childe."

Dave could hear Grey gritting his teeth. There was a lot here he was missing, but it was clear Grey was close to losing it. Dave risked drawing his ire by reaching out to touch his shoulder.

He expected Grey to lash out immediately, instead he visibly deflated at Dave's touch. Even Beckett looked bemused at that. The sound of sirens in the distance reminded Dave that there was still a hasty retreat in order.

"Well, I won't keep you," Beckett said, turning to Dave. "Pleasure meeting your acquaintance-" he glanced to Grey. "But there are rumblings for me to discredit. We shall, I'm certain, meet again." The smirk return before he added, "Or never again. Good night young one… _Grey_. Oh, and, David, try and be careful. You're very likely being hunted by the Sabbat."

"I kinda figured," Dave said.

Beckett chuckled and turned away from them. His form wavered and melted back into the wolf. Dave tried to watch close, but it all happened too quickly to follow. One minute Beckett was standing there looking more or less human, the next he was running off through the train yard on all fours. The sirens were getting louder. Dave looked back to Grey, who was staring at his feet now.

"I am not what he says," Grey whispered.

"What?"

"I'm not…" Grey shook his head fiercely, even clawed at his scalp before he regained his composure. "We must fly, and you must lead."

Dave couldn't argue with that.

Grey refused to go with him to report back. He basically said, in his own weird way, that he didn't want to be implicated in helping Dave with the sabotage. Dave couldn't blame him, especially after what Beckett said about the Sabbat. He wanted very badly to ask how even he found them in the first place, but the look on Grey's face after the encounter wasn't exactly inviting. Dave let him go without even asking about what had crawled up his ass.

As a reward for his success, which mostly involved not getting blown up or torn apart, Bertram agreed to fill Dave in on the basics- at least as far as the clans and sects were concerned. It was all too much information to take in at once, but Dave didn't want to look dumb by asking him to repeat himself. It unnerved when, after asking about Malkavians, Bertram only smiled and said, "Just take a good look at your buddy. He's the quintessential kook, especially if you believe the rumors about who his sire is… but you'd be better off asking him about that."

After what he'd seen at the train station Dave didn't think that was such a good idea.

With the crash course over, Tung shooed him away with a map of the sewers and instructions to go report back to the Prince. He was slowly getting used to being ordered around by other, older vampires, even though he hated it. And even with the map, Dave got lost twice trying to navigate his way through the sewers to reach Downtown LA. He seriously missed little luxuries like being able to walk around above ground in plain view without people running and screaming.

He was careful to wait until a car was there to hide his climbing out of a manhole, but just as he was congratulating himself for his cleverness a baseball bat made contact with his head. It hit him with such force that Dave was knocked off his feet. The night sky unfolded beneath him, and then he was lying on his back on the pavement. His vision became clouded. Unconsciousness was a blessing he wasn't going to get. He blinked sluggishly, several times, but when he vision finally cleared he deeply wished he had just passed out. Three corpse pale faces were looming over him. They ignored Dave as they argued over what to do with him. He could have used that to try and escape, if he could just move.

"You couldn't pay me to drink from that thing!" The only female of the group said. Her bleach blonde hair only made her skin look even more pallid.

"Blood is blood," the young man beside her snarled. He was ugly, but his monstrousness wasn't on the same level as Dave's. He looked more like a nasty cross between a man and a junk yard dog. Dave had more of a generally repugnant thing going on. He wasn't sure which was worse.

"Fuck you!" Blondie snapped. "I'm not touching it. Let's just stake the damn thing and leave it for the sun. That'll teach 'im."

Dog Boy uttered a wheezy giggle at that suggestion.

"Both of you be quiet," a woman's voice said. Another face appeared in Dave's limited line of sight. Unlike Blondie, who looked like a deranged crack addict, the new woman was inhumanly beautiful. She looked as though she had stepped out of a classical painting, even if it did look like all the color had been bleached from her skin. She smiled as she looked down at Dave. The expression didn't reach her eyes, which were as hard and as black and a shark's. He regretted thinking she looked beautiful in that moment. "We're taking him to the Bishop, _as instructed_." The last two words left no room for argument.

"Aww…" Blondie and Dog Boy said in unison. Apparently there was still room for whining.

"Pick him up."

Dave tried to resist, but he had only just managed to wiggle his fingers. As Blondie and Dog Boy hoisted him up, he saw that Blondie was the one responsible for the blow to the head. She hit incredibly hard for someone so thin. She handed the baseball bat over to Dog Boy and, with a look of disgust, took Dave in her arms as if he weighed nothing. His head had cleared, and he was pretty sure he could try and put up a fight now, but his odds weren't good. Blondie alone could probably snap him in half without much trouble.

He heard a gunshot, nothing new in LA, but it was very close. Blondie howled in pain as the bullet crazed the side of her head, drawing a line of blood across her bleached hair, She dropped Dave and pressed a pallid hand to the wound. It hurt, even if it couldn't compare to the initial bat blow. His own head was still bleeding, but all it took was a thought to make the wound seal itself. He was getting way too used to that.

Dave didn't dare push himself up, but from his new vantage point he could see someone new had arrived. He recognized the guy from the theatre, the one who had spoken up for him. He had a smoking gun trained not on the blonde, but on the creepy woman with the shark eyes. She folded her arms defiantly.

"Look around you, Rodriguez," the shark woman sneered. "There's three of us and-"

The gun moved too quickly for Dave's to follow. One moment it was pointed at the woman, the next it was on the Dog Boy. He fired and the warped creature was thrown back with a yelp. Dave couldn't see where he was shot, but it was good enough to make sure Dog Boy didn't move after that. Dave kept still.

"Damn you!" Blondie howled. "You're nothing to us! Nothing can match the might of the Sword of Cane!"

"You keep telling yourself that," the man with the gun said. "Get moving."

"This isn't over, Rodriguez," the shark woman said. "You'll pay for what you did. Both of you…" She shot a venom filled glance at Dave before she started walking. Blondie gave Dave a parting kick in the stomach before she followed, rendering him unable to move for a few more seconds while he tried to determine if anything had ruptured. It sure as hell felt like it.

Blondie was almost to the mouth of the alley when suddenly she turned and ran back for Dave's savior. She howled as she leapt for him, destroying any chance of catching him by surprise. All she succeeded in doing was running right into the barrel of his gun.

"Good effort," the man said. He pulled the trigger, sending Blondie backwards with a nasty hole through her heart. "Bad execution."

Blondie's corpse was already rotting before it hit the ground. By the time it fell to Dave's level, it looked like someone had dumped the body in the alley months ago. The last remaining member of the gang, once so defiant and regal, broke into a very undignified, very terrified run. Within moments she was out of sight.

"Shoulda been more careful, newbie," the man said as he put the gun away. "You should stick to the sewers."

"Whatever you say, man," Dave said. He very slowly pushed himself back up to his feet, causing the alleyway to sway. "I guess I owe you. Twice. And I don't even know your-"

"Name's Nines."

"Oh."

"Look, you go do what you gotta do. Me, I got things to deal with. Why don't you pay me a visit at the Last Round tomorrow night? I dunno what you heard so far, but it's time you heard the real story."

"Uh, okay. I'll do that."

"This is a mean existence. Stay out of trouble, kid." He took a few steps toward the mouth of the alley before stopping. "And if you see Grey, you tell him I need to talk to him."

Dave nodded, which turned out to be a bad idea. Once everything stopped swaying, Nines was gone.

He decided to try and find a way into Lacroix's place from underground rather than risk any more exposure and savage beatings on the streets.

He never thought he'd be glad to crawl back into the sewers.


	20. Adopt a Rat

**Chapter 20: Adopt-a-Rat**

Grey barely had time to take comfort in the fact his haven was still intact before someone knocked on the door. Any visitors he received were usually due to some kind of hallucination, so naturally he was wary. Previous experience had led him to distrust what the peep hole might show him, thus his only choice was to open the door and face whatever might be waiting on the other side.

To his credit, his visitor did not recoil as Grey threw the door open. He recognized the face. It was not some ghost from his past, nor some demon conjured from his own subconscious. It was just one of LaCroix's men… though he still couldn't be sure whether or not that counted as the latter. Grey tried and failed to put a name to the stuffy face. It didn't matter, in his master's eye the man had no name or face, either. He was just a ghoul.

The ghoul stiffly inclined his head.

"Monsieur Grey." Judging by the thick accent, LaCroix had apparently imported him directly from the homeland. Quaint.

The sight of the ghoul had made Grey long to put his fist through his haughty face, the sound of his voice only made it strong. Strange. He usually wasn't prone to violence, but the last several nights had worn heavily upon him. It didn't help that he hadn't had a moment to himself in that same amount of time. He locked the violent thoughts away for later and tried to focus on what the man was saying. It wasn't easy.

The gist was LaCroix wanted to see him, immediately, and refusing wasn't an option. A limo was waiting to take him to his offices downtown. The ghoul used far more flowery words to pose the request/demand than was necessary. It was that sort of useless, roundabout speech that Grey despised. Despite what Dave or anyone else said, his own roundabout speech at least had some art, some purpose. Someone was always listening, _always_. It was better to confuse them, make them inclined to believe he was babbling senselessly, than to let him know he was even capable of a moment's lucid thought. It was safer that way. If they knew the truth, he would end up reunited with his sire. He had known this since his embrace.

Grey hummed tunelessly on the long ride up to LaCroix's penthouse, if only to try and remain calm. He waited anxiously for something to give, for reality to bleed into some kind of terrible portent. It didn't.

A dozen different conversations hissed within his mind. The noise was far worse the usual. It made it difficult to think, and even when he tried to concentrate on what was being said he could not pick an individual thread from the tangled mess of words. Grey gave up and did his best to just ignore them as he stepped out of the elevator. Showing weakness in front of the man who called himself Prince was not wise. There was no telling what the man already suspected, or what he already knew. He tried to keep his expression blank as he approached the desk, especially with the Sheriff watching him from the corner of the room, but it was impossible once he saw he was not LaCroix's only guest.

Dave was standing sheepishly in front of the desk. The man himself was lounging in the high backed chair behind it. As Grey approached, LaCroix stood.

"Ah, Mr. Grey," LaCroix said. "So good of you to come. I believe you know Mr. Kim."

Dave's look of confusion was a funhouse mirror reflection of his own.

"I must admit I was very intrigued when I heard you had taken it upon yourself to help young David, Paul," LaCroix, abruptly shifting to a more familiar tone. The name stung. Worse, it risked invoking his other half.

"Just Grey," he corrected him automatically.

"As you wish." LaCroix tilted his head in assent. A myriad of colors swirled through his pale aura when Grey focused on it. Anger intermingled with contentment. Grey blinked, the colors vanished. He didn't want to look too closely at the rest.

LaCroix didn't seem to notice his stare. "Anyway, I can understand Rodriguez speaking out, given his woefully idealistic nature, but you… Your involvement, Grey, I could not fathom."

Grey shrugged. "I wish I had a rhyme or a reason, but I don't."

"Ah, but you do…" LaCroix turned his attention back to Dave. "Do you know what the chances are of finding someone you knew in life in the same condition, David?"

"Um…" Dave looked to Grey to help. Grey suddenly felt he was teetering over the edge of a very deep shaft, and Dave was the misshapen weight tied to his foot. Fate had been leading him to this from the moment he saw Dave in that's rat nest. He shouldn't have been surprised.

"Astronomical!" LaCroix answered for him. "So, yes, Grey's involvement made very little sense- which is almost to be expected of his ilk- until an interesting bit of information was brought to my attention."

Grey tensed. He already felt as though he were falling. The desire to flail his arms was great.

"Truly it is a joyous occasion when two old friends in life can be reunited in undeath- and all completely by chance. Which brings me to why I brought you both here…"

The many conversations and mutterings in Grey's head had stopped abruptly. All that was left was faint snickering accompanying the ringing in his ears. That usually only happened as the prelude to frenzy. Dave still looked confused. LaCroix, meanwhile, began to pace before the windows that overlooked the city. Grey took the opportunity to hit himself in the temple. The ringing stopped, the voices started back up again.

"This is an extraordinarily unusual situation. David, so tragically without a sire. And Grey, the old friend from his past who so graciously stepped forward to aid him. Few could ever be so fortunate."

Something was wrong. The cacophony in his mind was rising. Grey tried to block it out.

LaCroix went on. "In our society it is rare, but not unheard of, for someone with no blood ties to claim a fledgling as their childe. I find that refreshing, don't you? For one such as we to risk everything for someone not of their own blood… Truly inspiring. "

Dave was silent, so was Grey.

"So, Mr. Grey," LaCroix stopped pacing and turned to face him. "In light of your former ties, and your recent interest in Mr. Kim's wellbeing... Surely you would be willing to take responsibility for him?"

Grey looked helplessly to Dave.

"It's a very harsh existence for a fledgling without a sire. Few survive. You do want your friend to survive, don't you?"

Grey imagined himself hitting the ground at terminal velocity. Viscera went everywhere, one eye flew off to settle at the foot of a nude statue. It made a great mess on the rug. In reality his form remained stubbornly intact, only the slightest twitch of his eye betrayed what was roiling in his thoughts. Grey opened his mouth to stop LaCroix there, to refuse to take on so heavy a responsibility, but the look on Dave's face stopped him. In that moment, Dave looked like a very ugly, helpless puppy. He couldn't refuse him. They _were_ friends, after all. And what would happen if he did refuse? He would lose his anchor… though that could mean so many things, for good or for ill.

What _was_ he thinking?

"Yes…" Grey muttered.

"So, then… Will you, understanding all the responsibilities of a sire, claim him as your childe?"

Grey looked helplessly between the two. He felt trapped. The Beast stirred in its cage, and Grey beat it back in order to respond with a strangled, "I will."

It wasn't until after he said it that he remembered what happened in the sewers. The argument. The blood. He looked back to Dave and focused. The odd twinge of fondness was there, but he knew now the feeling wasn't entirely natural. The tether between them wasn't entirely metaphorical after all. He silently cursed himself.

LaCroix smiled. "Very good. I believe this makes things considerably easier for everyone."

Grey begged to differ, but he kept his mouth shut. Dave's crimes were his crimes now. The phrase ran through his mind over and over. He wanted to help him, yes, but he didn't want to be tied _that_ directly with him. The thoughts of the incredibly stupid things he'd done as a fledgling were just a few more barbs in his memory, yet back then there had been no Camarilla looming and waiting for him to make a mistake.

"Well then, David, congratulations. Now that you have your adoptive sire to take care of you, I see little reason to continue providing lodging. Santa Monica is a dreadful place, in any case." He idly picked through the papers spread out across his desk. "And I'm sure he will want to accompany you on your little excursion out to the Elizabeth Dane, as well- to ensure nothing goes wrong, of course"

"_What_?!" Grey said. The Sheriff, who had been completely immobile until that point, stirred slightly. The hilt of the massive blade strapped to his back glinted hopefully.

"I'm pretty sure I can manage-" Dave began.

"Nonsense!" LaCroix said. "I insist. Think of it as a bonding experience. A sire should, after all, be concerned for the wellbeing of their childer."

LaCroix's smile broadened as Dave and Grey both stared. "You can discuss it in the elevator. Dawn approaches, and I'm sure you have a lot to discuss before the night is out. Good evening." He waved them both off.

Grey turned and started walking towards the elevator. He didn't realize how fast he was walking until he heard David hurrying to catch up.

"Grey, I didn't know!" Dave said desperately.

"Don't speak," Grey snapped. "Not here."

The ride back to his haven seemed much longer than before.

"So… This is your place, huh?" Dave said.

Grey said nothing. He shut the door and went immediately to the couch.

"It's… nice." Dave slowly moved further into the room. "I like the fish tank."

Grey stared at the place on the wall where the TV used to be.

"How can you afford this place?"

"I can't," Grey said.

"Then how-"

"It's not important!"

That bought him a few moments more of tense silence.

Dave turned and drifted back towards the couch.

"Look, I don't see why you're so pissed," Dave said. "I mean, you helped me before."

"That was of my own choosing. Now I have no choice."

"Why not?"

"Don't you get it?!" Grey rose from the couch. It provided a barrier between them, but Dave was still quick to step back. "I claimed you as my own! I'm responsible for you! If you fuck up, I fuck up! If your head ends up on the chopping block again, I'll be next in line! And nothing anyone says will be able to stop it then!"

"Look, I've done okay so far, haven't I?"

The words barely registered. The noise in his mind was worse than ever, making Grey feel he was shouting through a storm.

"And if that wasn't enough, do you have any idea- and fucking idea- how ridiculous this sounds? A Malkavian claiming a Nosferatu?

_And sheltering in the cuckoo's nest_, a voice chortled.

"Shut up, it's not funny!"

"I didn't-"

"No, not you!"

Dave backed into the kitchen counter. "Just calm down, alright? It's can't be as bad as it seems."

"How the hell would you know?!" Grey hissed. "You haven't even been dead a week!"

"Okay, you're right," Dave held both hands up. "I don't have a clue. Sorry."

"Don't you fucking do that!" Grey rounded the couch. "Don't act like I'm some dangerous lunatic you have to talk down!"

"I'm not!" Dave was inching along the counter towards the stairs. "You're not, seriously!"

Grey moved to block his path. It wasn't as if there was any way to escape upstairs, but he knew the layout, Dave didn't. If Dave was his childe, Grey could do with him as he pleased. If that included tearing him limb from limb, well… Grey shook his head. That was the Beast's desire, not his. He didn't want another mess. No, he didn't want to do that to his own friend. Grey closed his eyes, pushing the Beast and all its grizzly urges back down. It had tested him too many times that night.

"Believe me, Dave, I'm not that bad off…" Grey said, the words strained. "There are others who…" A sudden heaviness swept over him. "Who don't even know…"

The cacophony in his head died abruptly. Grey didn't realize how bad it had been until it was gone. Countless voices had joined those that were always there to mock him. The usual jeers were drowned out by cries for help, names of the dead. They whispered of strange things happening a world away, of things that had yet to occur. They wept, they laughed, yet above it all rose the screams.

And then all of it was gone. In the silence Grey was finally able to see how foolish he looked. Dave was bracing himself against the counter as though he expected Grey to leap for him, and Grey… Grey felt very tired.

Dave apparently didn't notice. "I never said you were… I mean, you haven't really said anything that sounded really nuts since- no, wait! I didn't mean that! What I _meant_ to say was you haven't… the weird poetry… Has… Shit."

Grey could barely hear what he was saying. Everything seemed to come from him from very far away. He blinked once, sluggishly, but it was getting very hard to keep his eyes open.

"What time is it?" he asked.

"What? Um…" Dave looked around. "It's still early isn't it?"

Grey didn't respond. He let the darkness clouding his vision take him. He was distantly aware of sinking to the floor.

"Oh," he heard Dave say. "Right. That."


	21. Bon Voyage

**Chapter 21: Bon Voyage**

Dave shouldn't have been surprised when Grey collapsed. If anything he was relieved at the timing.

His place was the kind of stark, modern apartment with lots of sharp surfaces, particularly the stairs. Grey, thankfully, fell just short of the steps. Dave remained where he was for a few seconds, long enough for the tension to drain out of him. He slowly uncurled from around the countertop, like that would have helped if Grey went off on him. It didn't matter, it was all over thanks to Grey's weird case of vampire narcolepsy. The clock hanging in the kitchen showed it really was close to dawn, but not _that_ close. It was even earlier than the last time Grey passed out on him.

Dave crossed through the living room to where Grey had fallen. He was right next to the stairs, and he was willing to bet the door at the top was the bedroom, but he didn't feel up to carrying him again. There weren't any windows in the apartment to worry about. He transported Grey from the floor to the couch, even tried to arrange him to make it look like he had fallen asleep there. Dave sat down on the other side of the couch, putting plenty of room between them. He didn't feel right exploring the place while Grey was out of commission. That, and he was afraid of what he might find. He didn't want to know if Grey's brand of craziness included collecting stuff like jars of toenails or human fingers or… He stopped there.

Despite his best efforts, Grey just looked dead. Maybe it was the lighting, but he seemed paler. Dave examined his own skin, but it were the same jaundice yellow it had been since he died. The boils were the same, too, though one of them was starting to ooze.

He went back on his decision not to explore after sitting there in silence for a minute. There wasn't a TV, but there was a pale spot on the wall where a flat screen might have been. He could at least look if it was still somewhere in the apartment.

"You really are fucking nuts, I hope you know that."

There was no argument from Grey, but Dave still felt bad for saying it. "Sorry."

Unlike the haven he'd been loaned out, Grey's cupboards were filled with plates and cups that still looked new. That figured. The real surprise came when he tried the door just off the kitchen. He was barely able to open the door for all the junk piled in the tiny room. There were chairs piled just behind the door, which explained why the kitchen table had none, and perched precarious on top of them was a pot with a very dead fern of some sort hanging over the edges. There were pictures lying upside down on the floor, and all kinds of books piled on top of them. At the very back of the room, inaccessible thanks to all the other crap was a washer and dryer set. No sign of a TV, but it might have been buried toward the back somewhere. Dave quietly shut the door. So it wasn't as bad as he expected, but it was still weird.

There was a desk with a fairly new looking computer in the upstairs foyer. It wasn't turned on, and Dave managed to resist temptation and kept moving. He wondered if anyone had tried to contact him since he disappeared. Probably not.

He was right about the apartment having no windows. The bedroom had none, nor did the bathrooms. The place was practically made for vampires. Grey's bedroom was just as nondescript as the rest of the apartment, but at least now he knew that was because all the decorations had been shoved in the laundry room for some weird reason. His bed was nothing but a mattress lying in the floor with some sheets strewn over it. One of the pillows was lying against the wall. Dave had no intention of sleeping there, it didn't even look that comfortable, but he must have spent more time wandering the apartment than he thought. He still wasn't quite used to how suddenly that tired feeling hit, but the bed was right there…

His eyes snapped open sometime shortly after sunset. Before he could feel guilty about using Grey's bed when he'd left him on the couch, there was a brief moment of panic over waking up in a strange place. He was up out and out of bed as soon as he remembered where he was and what he was supposed to do that night. He hurried downstairs to the living room, but Grey was still asleep where he left him. Dave didn't want to see how long it would take for him to wake up this time.

"Hey…" He nudged Grey, but there was no response. He tried again, harder, and jerked his hand back as Grey stirred. That was something, but he wasn't quite there yet.

"Come on, wake up," Dave said. "The sun's obviously set." He went as far as to shake Grey a little. "What is wrong with-"Grey's eyes snapped open. Dave quickly sat back, but not quick enough to avoid Grey's hand as it shot out. He caught him by the throat and yanked him closer. Grey's eyes were open, but he definitely wasn't the one in control at the moment. The growl that rumbled from his throat was proof of that.

"Whoa, okay, bad idea"

Grey bared his fangs at him.

"Grey, c'mon, please, can we not do this again? I know you're in there somewhere… Grey? _Grey?_" It was like trying to reason with a very annoyed, very hungry tiger. There was still no trace of anything human in Grey's eyes. In desperation, Dave put his hand to Grey's forehead and tried to push him back. It was easier than he thought it would be, but Grey still wouldn't let go of his throat. He dug his fingers in harder. Dave wasn't in any danger of choking, but the pressure made it really hard to speak.

"Grey," he croaked. "Please. I really don't wanna… hafta…Ow!"

The pressure suddenly eased up. "Dave? What--"

But Dave was already pushing against him from the moment his grip loosened. He met no resistance this time, and so he accidentally sent Grey tumbling backwards over the side of the couch. Grey cursed, very loudly, as he hit the floor. At least that meant he was back in control, even if it was only temporary.

Dave peeked cautiously over the arm. Grey was lying in a very confused heap on the floor. "What the hell was that for?!"

"What else was I supposed to do? You were growling at me a second ago!"

"Growling? What?"

"Look, I didn't want to wait and see how long it took for you to wake up. We've gotta go back to Santa Monica."

"Why?"

"I could've told you that last night if…" He forced himself to stop. Best not to go back down that road. He changed gears and spoke quickly, just in case Grey's temper fired up again over being involved in the mission. "Look, the warehouse wasn't enough. Now LaCroix's going on about this thing called the Ankaran Sarcophagus."

Grey nodded He looked distracted, but Dave went on regardless.

"It was being transported here on a ship called the Elizabeth Dane, only when it got here the whole crew was dead. I'm- I mean we're- supposed to go aboard, get the police report and the cargo manifest, and try and see what the deal with the sarcophagus is. The thing is the ship is crawling with cops now, so..."

"You can't be seen," Grey finished for him as he rubbed his eyes.

"That's kind of a given now with everything." Dave gestured vaguely at his face.

Grey stood up. "The lady awaits us, then."

"Look, you don't really have to go with me, even if LaCroix said…"

"Where you go, I will follow," Grey said. "Lest I be dragged in your wake."

That last bit sounded particularly sour, but Dave didn't dare call him on it. He kind of missed the angry Grey. When he was like that he at least talked like a normal person, even if he was shouting.

Dave wanted to take the sewers, but Grey refused to go with him. He said it would be faster to take a taxi, only he said 'golden chariot' instead of taxi. Dave hesitated at the front door. The apartment was in the middle of downtown LA, and there'd definitely be a lot more people out at this hour than when they'd come in the night before.

"Wait," Dave said. "This isn't gonna work. It's bad enough I'm standing _here_."

They were alone in the apartment's lobby, but one of the neighbors could come in from the street, or out of the elevator, at any moment. Dave was looking nervously at the door marked 'maintenance', something he'd overlooked the night before, when Grey reached out to him. Dave flinched, which Grey ignored as he pulled up the hood of Dave's sweatshirt. He took a step back, examining Dave like a painter before an unfinished canvas. He stepped forward again and yanked the hood further down.

"Now I can't see."

"Just keep your head down and your hands in your pockets."

With that Grey opened the door and guided him outside. Dave was terrified. He was exposed in the middle of the goddamn city, and it'd take a lot more than an oversized hoodie to hide all that was wrong with him.

"Grey…" he whispered desperately.

"This is the world's easiest dance," Grey said. "Put one foot in the other. And again. Good. You're a natural."

They reached the curb, where a car was waiting. Even with his head down Dave could see the checkerboard pattern over the pattern over the bright yellow body. His surprise over their good fortune almost made him forget why he had to keep his head down.

"How?"

"Fate provides," Grey said simply, opening the door for him. Dave crawled in ahead of him, relieved for the relative darkness inside the cab. He could use that to his advantage.

"Where to?" The cabbie asked. Dave recognized that voice. It was the same guy from the night he'd almost been beheaded.

"Santa Monica Pier," Dave said, cutting Grey off before he could get the chance to use some weird metaphor.

"You got it."

Along the way, Dave wondered how they'd been lucky enough to have a cab waiting for them.

Dave remained hidden as he followed Grey down to the beach. Grey constantly glancing over his shoulder as he walked probably looked odd to anyone watching, but he was crazy, so it didn't really matter. Dave couldn't tell him he was still there for fear of ruining the illusion. They stepped out of the tunnel of the beach to find it was nearly deserted. The only person in sight was a man in a rumpled suit standing just out of reach of the surf. He waved when he saw Grey, and ran to them as fast as his loafers could manage on the sand.

"Ah, Mercury," Grey said amiably. "I see you have your wings back."

Dave barely recognized Mercurio without all the open wounds and the one eye swollen shut. With one last look around, Dave let the illusion slide off him. He shivered slightly, feeling as though a protective cloak had just been pulled away. Mercurio took a step back with Dave's sudden appearance, but to Dave's relief that was all he did.

"Good to see you," Dave said.

Mercurio grinned. "Hey, what can I say? You preserved my ass. I truly appreciate you not saying anything-" his eyes flicked to Grey as he said it. "-and I want you to know I take care of those who do me favors." He paused long enough to make a futile attempt to smooth the lines of his off-the-rack suit. "So from now on- you need equipment, info, you come see me. Don't hesitate..." The smile faded. "Guess that goes for the both of ya now."

"Thanks," Dave said.

"One good turn…" Grey said with a shrug.

"C'mon," Mercurio gestured they follow him. "Your chariot awaits."

Their 'chariot' was a tiny motorboat in the surf. The Elizabeth Dane was a toy boat on the horizon. It was debatable if the dinky little craft LaCroix provided would be able to make it to the ship and back without running out of gas or sinking, whichever came first. They'd find out soon.

Mercurio talked as they walked, filling what would otherwise be yet another tense silence. "I tell ya, that blood you guys got's an amazin' thing. Helped close up a few wounds. This back alley patch fixed up the rest." He gingerly patted his side.

Dave barely heard him. He wondered how they were going to pull this off. He'd tried to talk strategy with Grey on the way over, but Grey basically said it was pointless to plan when they didn't know what they were walking into. The way he said it made Dave feel even worse for getting him so involved.

"I needed that beating," Mercurio was saying. "Good reminder not to overestimate my abilities. Last time it's gonna happen. Here we go. Go ahead and hop in."

The boat was even smaller up close. There was barely enough room for both Dave and Grey to fit, but it was the only way. They both climbed in without a word. Dave hoped Grey's silence was because he was focusing on the task ahead, not because he was silently cursing him or in the midst of some kind of psychotic fit or something.

"Oh by the way," Mercurio said. "I stopped by the beach house early this morning. I gotta say, I like what you did with the place. Wish I coulda seen it."

"Um, yeah, thanks…" Dave said. He tried not to look at Grey.

"Anyway, I took care of the rest for ya, don't worry. Those bastards had it comin'."

"Right," Dave said.

Mercurio single-handedly pushed the boat into the water with both Dave and Grey in it. Dave was impressed, even if it had to be the vamp blood at work.

"Good luck!" He called. "Don't do anything stupid!"

"Great advice coming from him," Dave muttered.

Grey surprised him by chuckling.


	22. The Path of Least Resistance

**Chapter 22: The Path of Least Resistance**

A rope ladder was waiting to take them up to the deck, reinforcing Grey's belief that for once his luck was improving. The noise in his head had died down considerably, as if to make up for the cacophony it had made the past few nights. It had been some time since he'd had any sort of unpleasant vision, and of Paul there was no trace. The baleful chorus was still with him, of course, but Grey happily ignored their jeers over the likelihood of failure in the mission. He felt good. Better than that, he almost felt normal.

He went first up the ladder, with Dave following close behind. He didn't worry much about what he would do on the ship when he had no means of concealing himself. If Fortune was still with him, fickle a companion as it was, things would work out. After all he was put through Grey felt he was owed _something_. And in the end, Fate was what he really had to worry about.

When they were both on deck, Grey turned to Dave.

"Don't look," Dave said, already ahead of him. "It won't work if someone's watching."

Grey shrugged and turned back around. He felt almost like… whistling?

It wasn't his imagination or any work of his delusions. Someone was whistling up ahead. The coincidence wasn't nearly as jarring as the realization that Grey had nowhere to hide, and no supernatural means to make one. He glanced over his shoulder, but Dave was already out of sight. Small comfort. From the corner of his eye he could make out the flicker of something. His own power of perception still outweighed Dave's talent for hiding, but there was no point bring it up now.

The whistler, a uniformed police officer, was standing at the railing several yards away. Dave, to his credit, was too prudent to do something silly like make a noise. Against his better judgment, Grey moved forward. Perhaps it was just his imagination, but he could almost feel the terror radiating off Dave over the fact Grey would so something so reckless. Grey couldn't explain what had possessed him, but rather than question he kept walking forward. The officer stopped whistling when he noticed Grey approaching, but rather than raise the alarm he glanced around surreptitiously, and then waved Grey over. Grey tried not to smile as he approached.

"It's me," the cop whispered. The word ketchup stuck in Grey's mind, he didn't know why. "I'm Jacobson's guy… You're the man, right?"

"A man," Grey said. "For all intents and purposes- your man. So yes."

The cop rolled his eyes and gave him the once over and sighed. "Jeez. What kind of Woodstein don't think to at least show up dressed like an investigator, coast guard guy, somethin'. . . Didn't you ever see Fletch? They just handin' out those diplomas nowadays?"

Grey shrugged. "I was sent here with no mention it was a fancy dress party."

"Whatever." The cop withdrew a folded sheet of paper from his pocket. "Look, I got you a copy of the initial report. And I can get you in to the cabin, but you gotta make yourself real scarce after that. Anybody catches you, I don't know you. And no goddamn flash photography, brainchild."

"Gotcha," Grey said, taking the report from him.

"Head down the stairs behind you and stay low. When you get down there, wait for me to call off the guy guarding gangway A. As soon as he leaves, get your ass movin'. And _don't_ let him see you. I'll give you a couple minutes but don't dilly-dally. In and out, kay?"

Grey considered what he said for a moment. "Is there nothing else?"

The crooked cop pondered that. "Uh, well…"

Grey caught his eyes as they came back from drifting to the stairwell. "Tell me."

"Alright, fine. Take the stairs up to the security room - there'll be a computer in there. The password is Lighthouse. _Lighthouse_, all one word. You gettin' all this?"

Grey nodded.

The cop gestured to the stairs. "Now get a move on - and don't forget to tell Jacobson I get double my usual fee for this one."

"The words will reach him somehow."

Grey left the man to watch the seas and headed down the stairs towards the gangway. He could sense Dave trailing behind him in a fog of confusion.

Dave didn't appear until they were alone in the security room. "What the hell was that?" He whispered. "And what's with you all of the sudden?"

Grey smiled. "The night is young and quiet as a badly beaten stepchild." Dave looked at him blankly, so he elaborated with, "I think the wheel has made an upward turn for me… And I _can_ be crafty, you know."

"That's great. I guess." Dave stood back as Grey went to the computer. The password was, as promised, lighthouse. After that it only took a few clicks to unlock every door in the ship that could possibly be of interest to them. But it offered far more than just that.

"What are you doing?" Dave asked. He was looming just behind his shoulder. Grey's mood was still too bright to allow him to care. "We're supposed to see about investigating the sarcophagus." Grey clicked a different icon and a nearby monitor flickered to life. All it showed was a fuzzy black and white image of a different cop smoking by a crate. Grey cycled through the cameras until he found the money shot.

"Whoa," Dave said, leaning closer to the monitor.

The picture could have been better, but it was clear enough to a very odd, very immaculate crime scene. The sarcophagus was ringed by bright lights and crime scene tape. The lid was lying on its side, and there were what looked like bloody hand prints on it. That still didn't explain why blood was splattered throughout the ship- they'd passed a particularly large puddle on the way to the security room- but a lot of crew made for a lot of mess.

"What do you think it means?" Dave asked.

Grey stared at the image on the screen. He saw a flash of fire lighting up the night sky, of shards of glass raining down into the streets. Raucous laughter accompanied it. Grey blinked, and suddenly he was surrounded by darkness again. Instead of glass, ashes rained down on him, filling his nose with the scent of… tea leaves? That wasn't right.

"Grey?"

Dave's voice dragged him back to the security room. Grey ran his fingers through his hair, even if there really was no dust to dispel. He tried not to think of how long he might have stared at the monitor. Not long, or Dave would have looked much more concerned.

"It means there's nothing left but to find the manifest now," Grey said.

The vision, or visions, had ruined his good mood. And he wasn't even sure what they meant.

"That wasn't so bad," Dave said once they were back at Venture Tower. He held both documents in his spindly fingers as they rode the elevator up to LaCroix's penthouse once again. Grey, in the meantime, was thinking about the sarcophagus. Beckett, of course, would never believe there was anything special about it, but he had said there was a feeling of dread felt throughout the city. Grey couldn't know if that was usual, as he was often feeling that same emotion about any number of different things- most of them ultimately imagined. But seeing that damn box had triggered something, and much as he thought it about it, no new insight hit him. Once again he was left clutching only a scant few pieces of the puzzle. Whatever the greater picture was, it sure as hell wasn't going to be a basket of kittens.

The cheerful ding of the elevator jarred him out of his thoughts. Grey was beginning to despise elevators. They were all so smug. Dave glanced to him before stepping out. It wasn't so much for reassurance as to confirm Grey was still with him. Grey resented that, but just the same he silently moved with him. There was absolutely no good reason for there to be such a long walk between the elevator and LaCroix's desk. His entire haven could fit in the distance between. Dozens of plump faces stared vapidly out from the paintings lining the walls like sentries. An actual Botecelli was amongst a number of other actual paintings that Grey couldn't immediately place.

They weren't the prince's only audience. Four people were standing around LaCroix's desk, and the moment Dave and Grey stepped from the elevator he dismissed them. Grey recognized all of them as they turned to leave, and he quickly pulled Dave out of the way as the Primogen council walked towards the elevator. The Toreador Primogen, Edith, led the way, and she pointedly ignored them as she passed. She was beautiful, that was undeniable, but hers was the kind of beauty that was fashionable back when Technicolor was something new and exciting. Now her beauty, like everything else about her, was dated, and she was too proud to acknowledge it or make the effort to change. The Ventrue had no representative, as there was no way LaCroix would allow another lion to hold power in his territory. His claim was shaky enough as it was. Strauss, the Tremere primogen and regent, was good enough to give Dave and Grey a sidelong glance as he strolled by, but like the others he said nothing.

And then there was Gary. Nothing looked quite as absurd as a Nosferatu in a tux, but there he was. He stood tall and proud, if only to flaunt the simple fact that unlike most of his clan, his spine was unbent. His posture, unfortunately, was his best feature. His skin was fish belly white, making his bald head, and the boils that dotted it, appear to gleam in the light. Like Dave, his jagged yellow teeth protruded in all directions from his mouth. Also like Dave, his fingers were grotesquely long. Grey couldn't help but notice an odd resemblance between them, at least in their selection deformities.

Gary winked as he passed them, but Grey couldn't tell if it was to him or to Dave. Probably Dave. It wasn't until Grey started walking towards LaCroix's desk, pushing Dave along with him, that he realized someone had been missing from the line-up. That inspired a feeling of dread far better than any ancient coffin might have.

LaCroix sighed once they were at his desk. "I don't have time for a monologue. Give me the 'bullet points' of what you saw."

Dave and Grey exchanged glances. Grey nodded to him.

"The whole crew was missing," Dave said, still clutching the papers. "There was blood everywhere."

"And the Ankaran Sarcophagus? What did you see?"

Dave looked to Grey again. Grey shrugged. No way in hell was he going to tell LaCroix what _he_ saw.

"It was opened… it looked like it had been opened from the inside. There were hand prints."

"Opened?" LaCroix's eyes widened. He mastered himself quickly. "Let's not jump to conclusions. Give me the manifest and your notes, I'll sort this mess later." He practically yanked the documents out of Dave's hand. It was all Grey could do not to smile as LaCroix quickly out them away. He looked a bit more composed once they were out of sight.

"You might have noticed when you came in-" LaCroix gestured vaguely to the elevator. "The parade of malingering mollycoddles filing out…" His words were dripping with derision, as they often were. "Those were the primogen, this city's clan elders. A worrisome bunch, dedicated first and foremost to the security of their own skin. Which is why they were here."

Grey waited impatiently for the other shoe to drop.

"It's seems Alistair Grout, the Malkavian primogen, has either forgotten how to answer his phone, or is missing."

As LaCroix turned back to the windows, Grey put a hand to his face.

"Grey?" Dave whispered.

"Sandstorm," Grey muttered.

LaCroix either didn't hear them or ignored them. "Each minor problem like a grain of sand, each night I inherit the desert." He was staring out the windows now, and so he missed it as Dave gaped at Grey. He hadn't even realized what he was saying. He definitely didn't know he was going to say that. Not consciously.

"The Sabbat's appearance has put the primogen on edge," LaCroix went on. "Grout's mansion is in the Hollywood hills. I need you two to pry Grout out of whatever crack he's crawled into, and have him contact us." He turned to face Grey. "Surely he'll listen to a clanmate."

"So you would think," Grey said, without enthusiasm. "He is no dear friend of mine. I

have never even laid eyes upon him."

"Um, Grey…" Dave said.

Grey ignored him and glared at LaCroix's back. "We did what you asked. That's enough. I doubt D- I mean my _childe's_- life is worth so much that you have to send him- send _us_- on every little errand you need run. The warehouse alone was more than enough to repay his debt! I can take it from here, with or without your blessing!"

LaCroix spun around, so quickly that Grey didn't have time to back away, much less look away. Their eyes met, and LaCroix got right to the point.

"_Go_. _See_. _Grout_."

Every word fell like an anvil, and yet to Grey they had absolutely no weight at all. It was all he could do not to echo the gale of laughter that was roaring in his head as the command failed the penetrate. He knew this trick, he knew how it was supposed to work. And it didn't.

Which was why he couldn't let LaCroix know.

Grey let his eyes loose focus and his expression turn blank, even topped it off by letting the tension drain from his posture.

"I will go see Grout," he droned.

"Very good," LaCroix said, as though he was addressing a dog.

Grey blinked and glanced around. At least a little of the confusion he showed was genuine. Could LaCroix really be that gullible? He was a man used to getting what he want, and apparently one used to dealing with much weaker blood as well. He certainly looked pleased with himself. Grey turned back to Dave, who looked very confused over the whole exchange. He really had no clue what just happened. Grey would have to explain later.

"We shall go, then, to scrape Grout from the walls…"

"Whoa, hold on a sec," Dave said, drawing a nasty look from Grout. He quickly backpedaled. "I'm not arguing. I'm _really_ not. I'm all for dropping by. I can't wait. It's just… wouldn't it be safer if we went tomorrow night? I mean, we don't know where he is- or how crazy he is- and we might not make it back in time if we go now…"

LaCroix sighed. "Fair enough. But you will leave first thing tomorrow night."

"Right," Dave said, nodding eagerly. "Well, uh, see you soon."

As they walked back to the elevator, Grey finally let himself smile.


	23. Last Call at the Last Round

**Chapter 23: Last Call at the Last Round**

Dave managed to wait until the elevator was in motion before speaking up.

"Okay, what the hell was that?"

"What was what?" Grey said, keeping his eyes on the numbers as they counted down. Dave never understood what people found so mesmerizing about watching the light slowly make its way left.

"I mean, he just-" Dave wiggled his fingers in the general direction of Grey's eyes. "And then you were all 'yes sir, certainly sir'."

"It's a Ventrue thing."

"But he… you…" Dave shook his head. "Do we really have to go see this Grout guy? Really?"

Grey kept his eyes on the numbers. There were too many floors, and to make things worse the elevator moved way too slow. They were only halfway down. When he looked over, Dave noticed Grey wasn't really looking at anything as he spoke. "If there's to be any peace, yes…"

"I don't like this, Grey," Dave said. At the moment he was more creeped out by Grey's thousand mile stare. "This whole thing stinks. Every time I turn around, someone else is pushing me to do something. What the hell am I supposed to do?"

"Go along with it," Grey still sounded distant. "That's all any of us can do."

"Yeah, well, it still sucks…" But Grey didn't even respond to that. Forcing a sigh, Dave kept his eyes on the light as it very slowly worked its way left. It was better than looking at Grey when he was in the grips one of those weird spells.

Dave's eyes widened as the number 9 lit up. "Oh, crap! The Last Round! Nines told me to go there last night." He slapped his forehead. "I kinda forgot thanks to all the… stuff. Um, anyway, he said he was looking for you, too."

"I'm never where I ought to be," Grey said. "Wait, when did you see Nines again?"

"Heh, well, it's a funny story… Hey, you know you've gone like three minutes without saying anything weird? I mean, except for just now."

Grey glared at him. Dave grinned sheepishly, knowing full well that was no help. Still, it was worth pointing out that Grey was still capable of at least _sounding_ like a sane person. Though, as he thought about it, it only seemed to happen when they were alone and Grey was relaxed- or when he was really angry. Maybe it was just when they were alone in general. The elevator arrived at the basement before Dave could bring that up. He stepped out, but Grey remained inside.

"Do you think you can find your way there from below?" Grey asked.

"Huh? The Last Round? Yeah, I guess so."

"Good. I'll meet you there shortly." He pressed a button, presumably for a lobby, and the doors slid closed.

"Okay then," Dave said, feeling put out. He made his way to the sewer access.

He had a little less trouble navigating the streets from below than the night before. He only ended up going in a circle once. The really tricky part was getting from the manhole in the alley to the bar across the street, and then getting through the door without being seen. Easier said than done.

Even though he was hidden and the street was deserted, Dave was compelled to run across as quickly as he could. Just like a damn rat. He was standing at the bottom of the stairs and debating over what to do next when the door opened. Grey stepped outside and looked around. At first his gaze passed right over Dave, but on the second pass he looked right at where he was crouched. Smiling faintly, Grey held the door open long enough for Dave to slip inside.

The bar was very dimly lit, smelt very strongly of cigarettes, and very loud music was rattling the black painted windows. It was everything Dave could have hoped for in a sleazy bar, if not one run by vampires. The only person in sight was the bartender, who was a few hundred pounds lighter than the one on staff at the Asylum, and with considerably fewer tattoos. In fact, he looked painfully average. Dave was jealous.

"That's Chad," Grey shouted over the music. "He's one of ours. It's safe."

Dave wondered if he would ever get used to the strange sensation that came with slipping in and out of sight. Chad looked up when he appeared. His eyes widened once he got a good look at Dave in all his repulsive glory. Instead of screaming, Chad immediately poured all of his attention back into cleaning glasses. It still stung every time he saw the effect he had on people.

"This way," Grey said, starting towards the stairs in the back. He only made it as far as the bottom step before a pale hand shot out and grabbed him. He cried out in surprise as he was yanked into the open door at the foot of the stairs. Dave ran to catch up to find a petite and very pale girl harassing Grey in what looked like a supply closet.

"Where the fuck have you been?!" The song ended in the middle of the girl's demand. Her screaming in the silence made Dave wince.

"Well, I-" Before Grey could finish, she shoved him into a rack filled with boxes. One of them teetered over the edge and fell, spilling coasters emblazoned with the bar's logo all over Grey and the floor.

"I thought you were dead, you inconsiderate prick!" The girl shrieked.

She looked young. College aged, but still young. She wore a green beret over hair that was dyed the color of ripe cherries. It didn't help to make her skin look any less pale. The white t-shirt she was wearing wasn't much lighter than her skin tone. She was also several inches shorter than Grey, but he still pressed himself against the rack like he was being confronted by a tiger.

"Damsel, let me explain-"

"Fuck your explanations!" Damsel said. "I am sick and fucking tired of worrying about you ungrateful assholes!" She turned and kicked away the nearest of the flood of coasters before stomping out of the room. Dave had just enough time to step away from the door. It didn't matter. Damsel still cried out in alarm when she finally caught sight of Dave. "Jesus Christ!"

The shock quickly drained from her face once she recognized him.

"Oh, it's you." Apparently every Kindred in town had turned up for the public execution. She looked to Grey for the explanation she could have gotten earlier. Grey carefully picked his way through the coasters to join them in front of the stairs.

"Damsel, this is Dave. Dave, this is Damsel. She's mostly harmless, I swear."

Damsel bared her fangs at Grey. "I'll show you harmless, you goddamned cuckoo!"

"That's enough!"

Nines was standing on the stairs, his fists clenched. It made the blue veins threading his muscles standing out even more. "Stop it, both of you. Chad-" the bartender, and probably ghoul, snapped to attention. "Go ahead and close up. The rest of you, come upstairs. We've got a lot to talk about, and not a whole lot of time."

They went up the stairs single file. Dave ended up taking the rear..

"You should've come sooner," Nines said as they reached the top.

"Something came up," Dave said. Nothing about the décor upstairs said it was a secret vampire hangout. Dave wasn't sure what he expected, but it wasn't just another dingy part of the dingy bar. There were tables spread out across the room. All of them looked like they'd seen better days, or nights, or whatever. Jack was leaning against the wall near the back. He grinned and waved. The large black man sitting at a near by table was a bit less friendly. He sneered at Dave when their eyes met.

"You know Jack," Nines said. "Man over there is Skelter. And Damsel-" she shouldered past him to join Skelter at the table. "Well, Damsel's Damsel. They're alright." Finally, Nines turned to Grey. "So where have you been?"

"It's a funny story," Grey said. Dave was amazed at how nervous he looked. "And I know how much you hate jokes."

"Try me." Nines folded his arms.

"Wait," Dave said, stepping in front of Grey. "I can explain. It's pretty much my fault. See, Grey helped me with something LaCroix made me do in Santa Monica earlier. LaCroix got word of it, so, uh, he kind of forced Grey into stepping in as my sire."

Jack broke into a very loud laugh. It went on long enough to make Dave uncomfortable. He didn't think it was that funny, and even if it was, it sure as hell wasn't knee slapping funny. But that's what Jack was doing. It didn't help when Nines started to look pissed at the commotion. Damsel and Skelter just exchanged looks.

"Oh, man!" Jack crowed, finally winding down. "I dunno about you guys, but that is the funniest goddamn thing I've heard all week!"

Nines pointedly ignored him. He was looking very intently at Grey. "How did LaCroix _force_ you to claim him?"

"It unfolded differently!" Grey exclaimed. "It was of my own free will, and my will alone!"

"Okay, then _why_?"

"Because…" Grey trailed off. His mouth opened and closed several times, with him looking increasingly distressed every time. The best he could come up with in the end was, "Just because."

Skelter spoke up. "Man, you know it's pointless asking a Malk why they do the things they do. Especially _him_."

Dave felt bad for Grey, who looked wretched. Skelter's words must have had an effect on Nines, who shook his head. "Alright, whatever. You're your own, man. Not like you really gotta answer to me, is it?"

"No…" Grey muttered. "I am, as ever, adrift with no sail or anchor or so much as a flag to wave."

Nines rolled his eyes and turned his attention to Dave. "So, did he at least run you through the basics?"

"There hasn't really been time…"

"Yeah, well, there's still not, so let me make it simple for you. And just so you know, I don't lecture, I don't rap, I'm not bureaucrat. I'm just a guy outta nowhere who came to be involved in something five hundred times bigger than you and me."

"Okay." Dave couldn't help but notice Grey was drifting to a table that was well away from Skelter and Damsel's. As he watched Jack pushed himself off the wall and joined him. There was no hope of making out what was being said from where he was standing.. All he could do was turn his full attention back to Nines.

"You got a right to know the score," Nines said. "The Camarilla? This is the short of it… They operate a lot like a pyramid scheme. There's a bunch of these old timers at the top with God only knows what plots in mind. They lose their power, they die."

"They sire more to carry out their plans. Looking for a little power, then those Kindred sired for their own schemes and so on and on and on and on." Nines scowled and shook his head. "It hurts my head just thinkin' about the mess, but what it works out to is this- only a few people have any real power."

"Okay, but you're leader of the Anarchs, right?" Dave asked. "So doesn't that kinda make you like the Prince of the Anarchs? Technically?"

"Them's fightin' words, newbie," Nines snarled, making Dave instantly regret asking it. "But you're young and stupid, so I won't make an example out of you. See, the Camarilla claims all of us are members even if we don't wanna be. Which is, of course, the biggest load of horseshit a man ever heard."

"Then what about LaCroix?"

"LaCroix?" Nines rolled his eyes. "Shit, LaCroix's just the guy who backstabbed and wheeled and dealed his way into becoming King Son of a Bitch to all the local Camarilla. Him and any of the traitors that sided with the Cam want power here, they'll get what's due." He glanced to Grey as he said it.

"Whoa, hold on, it's not like that," Dave said. He lowered his voice. "I'm pretty sure Grey hates LaCroix as much as anybody here. I don't really like him either, but I'm kinda stuck, y'know? He called Grey in and backed him into a corner with the sire thing, alright?"

"I still don't get why he'd stick his neck out for you."

Dave sighed. There was just no hiding it. "We used to be friends, alright? Y'know, _before_?"

"No shit?" Nines glanced over to Grey, who thankfully didn't seem aware they were talking about him. "So you knew him when he was sane, and he knew you when… Well, why didn't you just say so before?"

"Because everybody acts like it's a big deal. I mean, I get it, this sort of thing never happens. So what?"

"Man…" Nines looked thoughtful. Dangerously so. "So what was he like before?"

"What, Grey?" He should have known this was coming. "I dunno, normal? He smoked a lot, and he was a freelance journalist- mostly cause he got fired from all the big papers around here. Well, actually just the one, but you know the old saying 'you'll never work in this town again'? Yeah. And that's pretty much it."

"Really?" Nines looked back to Grey again. That time he noticed. "Damn… We coulda used someone like that."

"But he's still with you guys, right?" Dave said. "He must be good for _something_."

"In a sense. It's complicated, newbie…" Nines shook his head slowly before abruptly changing the topic. "Hey, you two weren't _together_, were you?"

"What? No!" Dave said it so loudly that everyone else looked over. Mortified, he froze, and bit by bit attention shifted away from him again. Grey looked away last.

"Sorry," Nines said.

"Look, just because two guys share an apartment doesn't mean anything," Dave whispered. "He had a girlfriend who I… uh… had to comfort… after he… well, she was very upset and… I'm- I _was_ only human… It didn't last, anyway. And after that was a series of, uh…" He stopped before he made himself look even worse. "But, that's all in the past! And now we're both dead, so there you go."

Which was worse, Dave wondered. Crazy or Hideous?

"Right," Nines said. He looked as though he was contemplating the same thing. "Well, anyway, it's getting close to dawn, so you two better go. You can ask Grey for the full story, if you don't mind how he tells it. The short version is we kicked the Camarilla out of LA- out of all of California- and then they came waltzing back in here like it never happened. We're not gonna stand by and let 'em. This is still the Anarch Free State, no matter what anyone else says. Remember that, Dave."

Dave nodded and was glad he got the honor of being called by name for once.

"One last thing," Nines said. "What did you do before all this?"

"I was a photographer." Dave considered the question for a little too long, so the lie didn't sound the least bit convincing. What made things worse was Grey walked over just as he said it. Grey slung his arm around Dave's shoulder. The fact he'd actually touched him shocked Dave more than the show of familiarity. It really made him wonder what Jack had said to him.

"What he meant to say," Grey said. "Was Portrait Taker of the Stars, so long may their glory- and all their embarrassments- shine for all the lesser folk to see."

"Paparazzo," Dave muttered, before anyone else could say it. "Can we please just go now?"

As trudged down the stairs, Grey surprised him by saying, "I already knew about you and Vera."

"Oh." Even though it was several years after the fact, Dave felt incredibly embarrassed- and guilty.

"No hard feelings," Grey said. The bar below was even darker than before. Chad was already gone. "I would have done the same, if our positions were reversed."

"What if they _had_ been reversed?" The question was out of Dave's mouth before he could stop it.

Grey shrugged. "Then _you'd_ be the crazy one and _I'd_ be the ugly one."

They stood in silence for a few moments.

"You were listening, weren't you?" Dave said. "Somehow…"

Grey smiled. "I have my ways. And had the music still been on, I'd be deaf for the effort."

"So, does that mean you have like, super vampire senses?"

Grey laughed, "You know that's the first time I've heard it described like that? Come on, we have to hurry."

Just like before, Grey held the door open long enough for Dave to slip by unseen.


	24. House Call

**Chapter 24: House Call**

Grey almost felt bad for eavesdropping on Dave and Nines the night before, but then if he hadn't he wouldn't have known how Nines felt about him. It hurt to think that, when told about the man Grey used to be, people automatically wished that was still him.

"Hell, who wouldn't?" Paul said. "I could rock the Free Press if not for you and your bullshit delusions. Remind me why you can't touch a word processor again? Something about the keys biting your fingers and drawing blood? It must be great having psychosis as an excuse for not doing anything worthwhile."

"It's not!"

"It's not what?" Dave asked.

They were in a taxi bound for Grout's mansion, and Dave was looking at him in confusion. Trees were rolling past the windows. They were already in the hills, and Grey found he couldn't remember anything of the ride up until that point. Had he said something before that? Had Dave?

He glanced warily at the front seat. The driver's attention appeared to be focused entirely on the road. It was hard to know for sure, thanks to the dark sunglasses he wore. Paul was sitting in the front passenger seat. He turned around to face Grey.

"Aw, now look what you did," Paul sighed. An unpleasant smile was on his face. The driver was just as oblivious to his presence as Dave was. "I don't know why you're so desperate to hide it in front of him, man. You're crazy. You've been crazy since the day you died. Everybody knows it. Dave knows it. Why pretend otherwise? I don't know if you've been keeping track, but the past few nights haven't exactly made you look good, have they?"

Grey said nothing. That didn't stop Paul.

"Oh, I get it. Well, pretend all you like, but wishing's not gonna make you any less of a nut." And with that Paul vanished. "Hell, I'm just another voice in your head, aren't I?"

Grey closed his eyes.

"Or maybe _I'm_ the real Paul Grey, and you're just some sad, deranged little offshoot off _my_ personality. Did you ever think about that?"

"Grey?" Dave sounded concerned. Grey didn't open his eyes.

"It doesn't matter, does it? You're too comfortable in your little security blanket of crazy. You talk like a poet on acid so no one will pay too much attention to you. And then you convince yourself you have to do it because, what, the fucking Antediluvians are listening in on you, too?" Paul laughed. "Don't flatter yourself, laughing boy. Even if they cared, you think some fruity metaphors are gonna throw them off? Fuck no! So why do you even bother?"

Grey opened his eyes. Paul was gone.

"Habit," Grey said softly.

"Now you're getting it," Paul's voice said. "You're almost there."

The cab rolled to a halt in front of a particular foreboding gate. Grout's mansion. Grey quickly climbed out of the cab.

"I'll be waiting," the driver said.

The gate was unlocked. Dave watched Grey closely as they trudged up the path to the mansion.

"Are you sure you're okay?" he asked. "I mean, are you up for this? Cause I can just go-"

"It's fine," Grey said, cutting him off. "I'm fine. I'm… I'm feeling better now."

All the words felt wrong. He felt exposed, naked.

"If you say so," Dave said.

They were a few feet from the porch when the front door opened. Grey stopped and automatically put an arm out to stop Dave. They were equally surprised to see who stepped out.

"Nines?" Dave said.

Nines stopped at the top step, his eyes widening. "You…" He glanced between the two of them. "What are you doing here?"

"We came to see Grout," Dave said. Grey was too busy staring at Nines to confirm. Something didn't feel right. Maybe it was what he'd said before, or maybe it was the fact that the cobweb was unusually quiet. Even his personal chorus did little more than snicker as Grey tried to place what was wrong. It was all his own fault for not being careful about what he said, more than likely.

"You should get out of here," Nines said. "It's not safe… pardon me." He stepped down and gave them both a wide berth as they passed. Grey turned to watch him go. He could see the taxi waiting just beyond the gate. The driver was watching him, too.

"That was weird," Dave said.

Grey said nothing of it. He moved past Dave and opened the front door. The only way to find what Nines had being doing there was to go inside. Dave hurried to catch up as Grey stepped inside, finding a cramped entry way that was occupied by a bedraggled looking girl. She was standing in the corner, her back turned to them as she quietly sobbed to herself. How could Nines have missed that? How could the girl have missed Nines? And since when did Nines say 'pardon me'?

Before Grey could stop him, Dave stepped forward and reached out to the girl. He stopped as soon as he reached out his hand. The sight of it alone was enough to remind him of what a bad idea that was. He looked to Grey for guidance. Grey wanted to hit him. He wanted to shake his ugly duckling of a childe and scream to him and anyone listening that he was not fit to lead anyone. His path was a sad and solitary one, as it had been since his sire had embraced him and dumped him on that beach.

Instead Grey stepped forward and said, "Excuse me?"

The girl shrieked and spun around. Makeup was caked on her face, making the rivers of mascara on her face particularly thick. Her eyes were wide and crazed, and clutched in her hand was a large, gleaming kitchen knife. She thrust the knife out, her trembling hand training the blade first on Dave, then Grey. It wavered back and forth as she stared at them.

"No," the girl said, her voice hoarse. "No, no, no, no. You can't touch me. You can't! You promised!"

Dave shook his head slowly. She looked just as terrified of Grey as him. "Look, I think you have us confused with-"

"No I don't! You can't fool me! Not again!" The girl shrieked. "You can't hurt me anymore!"

It happened so quickly. One moment she had the knife pointing towards them, the next she had turned it on herself. Dave reached out to stop her too late for that. The girl plunged the knife deep into her own throat. Her eyes widened, but there was no taking back that final action of defiance. Blood poured around the knife and bubbled from her lips as she exhaled her last breath. She crumpled to the floor, blood pooling around her on the checkered tile. Grey wasn't hungry enough to be moved from the sight. Dave, on the other hand, was down on his knees in an instant.

Grey hauled him back up by the hood of his sweatshirt before he had the chance to debase himself by lapping blood from the floor. He spun him around to find there was nothing human in his eyes. So he smacked him.

There was a good chance that would only drive the Beast to frenzy, but either Grey was lucky or Dave had a better handle on himself than that. Dave recoiled, the human light immediately returning to his bloodshot eyes.

He put his hand to where Grey had hit him. "What was that for?"

"When's the last time you fed?"

Much to Grey's chagrin, Dave looked embarrassed at the question. That was all he needed, a surrogate childe still squeamish about feeding. He pushed Dave away in the midst of muttering something about rats.

"When this is over we're finding you something to eat," Grey said.

"They're people, Grey."

"Fine, _someone_ to eat."

The foyer beyond was dominated by a massive painting facing the door. It looked as though the artist had started with a normal portrait of Grout and had fallen into surrealism as he worked his way out. Grout's hair curled away into a night sky filled with swirling clouds and bright stars. It made Grey's head hurt. Looking at the picture was like watching someone go mad. He had no doubt that was what happened to the artist in the end.

"Weird," Dave said of the painting, trivializing the whole thing. The two double doors to the left of the painting looked promising, but like the door across the hall they were locked. Their only option was the hallway just off the main door. The makeshift barricade halfway down the hall explained why the foyer looked so barren. A couch, a clock, and several chairs, all lovely antiques, had been haphazardly piled to barricade a door. Grey was forced to crawl under a narrow gap in the mess to get past. Dave followed with only slight hesitation, relieving Grey of the hassle of explaining why it was doubtful Grout was in a room barricaded from the outside.

The hall took them to a massive library, where a disheveled looking man was desperately trying to put a broken chair back together simply by putting the pieces where they used to fit. Whatever it was that had broken it had smashed the chair into several jagged pieces. That, and the lack of tools, didn't deter the man. He looked confused as it fell apart every time.

"You're supposed to be a chair," the man said despondently. He didn't seem to notice them enter. "If it's not a chair it's just wood. I'll get in trouble if it's just wood. Please, please, go back. Go back."

Grey looked around the cavernous room. Somewhere, he was certain, there was a bookcase that would slide open with a little coaxing. It seemed only fitting for a Malkavian elder.

_New World means nothing_, a voice hissed.

And Grey had almost begun to miss them.

Though he knew no good would come of it, Grey cleared his throat to draw the hapless carpenter's attention. After the first girl's reaction, he wasn't at all surprised when the man snatched up a broken chair leg as soon as he saw them.

"Um, Grey…" Dave said. The chair leg had a dangerously pointed edge, making it a perfect makeshift edge. In voicing his concern, Dave only drew the man's attention.

"He can't know about this!" The man shrieked, advancing toward them both.

Dave held his hands up. "We aren't gonna tell, I swear!"

Grey took a step back. He grabbed Dave by the hood once more to force him back with him. Dave was slow to react, and so he was still standing ahead of Grey when the man charged.

"Liar! Liar!" He shrieked, jabbing at Dave wildly with the crude stake. "You only want to see me suffer!"

Dave raised his hands to deflect the stake. Standing from behind, Grey was unable to make out exactly what happened. All he knew was that Dave's attempt to fend the man off failed miserably, though he was lucky enough to have it go through his shoulder instead of his heart. Dave howled in pain and, before Grey could grab him again, he pounced upon the man. The chair leg was driven deeper into his flesh as the two fell to the ground. By that point Dave was beyond caring. The pain and outrage, coupled with the hunger, had driven him to frenzy. The Beast felt no pain, so it focused solely on sating its hunger. The man's struggling ceased shortly after Dave tore into his neck.

Grey didn't interrupt. It would all be over before long, anyway.

"Are you seriously just going to stand there and watch him kill a man?"

Paul appeared on the other side of the tableau, his arms folded to compliment the disgusted expression on his face.

"You're like an incredibly judgmental mirror, you know that?"

"Don't change the subject, jackass." Paul pointed at Dave. "How fucking callous can you be?"

Grey shrugged. "It had to happen sooner or later."

"Not when you can stop this!" Paul narrowed his eyes. "You know what? I'm sick of arguing."

It came without warning. There was no subtle transition, no feeling of falling or fading to black. One moment Grey was watching Dave noisily feeding from a man, the next he was in an unfamiliar hallway. And he was walking. As soon as he realized where he was, Grey stopped. Something bumped into him. He spun around to find it was only Dave.

"What just happened?" Grey demanded, grabbing Dave by his sweatshirt.

Dave's eyes went wide. The many lines on his faces rearranged themselves in a mix of confusion and fear. "Um… nothing? We were walking. You just got quiet all of the sudden."

"What was I saying?" Grey was unable to keep from sounding hysterical. He was entitled. "How long has it been since the library?!"

"The library?" Dave looked confused. "That was a while ago. There was a basement with this weird electrical trap, and more rooms with people… Only they were too out of it to notice or attack or anything… Is this some kind of test. Cause I've been paying attention. This place is too creepy not to."

Grey shook his head. "What was I saying? Just now… I mean before I stopped walking just now."

"You were talking about Maria- Maria Vasquez? Y'know, that chick I dated years and years ago. Remember? Her father made me dump her, and then her brothers got pissed that I dumped her and beat the shit out of me."

It was Grey's turned to look confused. "Why would I talk about that?"

"Um… to break the tension? I dunno, you brought it up cause that guy attacked me, and you said I always had a knack for losing fights and-"

"What happened to him? The man in the library."

Dave cocked one hairless eyebrow, like the answer- like everything else- should have been obvious. "You pulled me off him."

Grey turned away from him. Paul was standing at the foot of the stairs.

"Don't look at me like that," Paul said. "I tried. You take my advice on the crazy talk, but then you won't listen on the shit that really matters. You being unable to help yourself is one thing, but Dave…"

Grey leapt at him. It wasn't until he passed through Paul that he realized it was still in his head. A second after, he cracked his head on one of the steps. He tasted blood, and as he sat back he saw lights dancing before his eyes. The blow wasn't enough to knock him unconscious, though he wished it had. At least when he was unconscious he could have some peace and quiet… Unless there were dreams.

He just couldn't win.

Paul sighed, his voice loud enough to drown out the gales of laughter echoing in his mind. "And we were making such progress…"


	25. Rötschreck

**Chapter 25: Rötschreck**

For a while there, Dave felt things were just like old times. For the first time since they'd met, Grey talked about the good old days, back when they could go out during the day without bursting into flames. After all that had happened, the ordeal with Maria and her family seemed like something that had happened to someone else. It made it easier for Dave to laugh about it, which helped him keep his mind of the fact he had almost sucked all of the blood out of a man. Grey had stopped him before that happened, thankfully, but now Grey was acting like he didn't remember that or anything that had happened after. As if that wasn't enough to freak Grey out, he topped things off by taking a sudden dive into the stairs. And just when he was starting to think Grey was improving in the crazy department. At least they were standing at the bottom, otherwise things might have ended up much worse.

After what had happened the last few times, Dave was hesitant to go to Grey. He braced himself for the worst as Grey rose. The hole in his shoulder wasn't even completely healed yet.

"Let's get this over with," Grey said. He kept his back to Dave.

"What? But you just- I mean I don't think- why did you…" He paused to find a better way to voice his confusion. "Dude, what the fuck?"

"I don't want to talk about it, Dave," Grey snapped. He started up the stairs. "Not here."

Dave followed him. "Okay, but when we get back you've got a lot of explaining to do. And don't say I wouldn't understand, either."

"Fair enough." Grey glanced over his shoulder. "You wouldn't _want_ to understand."

"Aw, fuck you and your English degree."

Tense silence was getting to be their default state together.

Grout's inner sanctum wasn't as bad as Dave expected. After all the sad, broken people they'd found in the mansion- people Grey probably didn't remember- Dave had expected a real chamber of horrors at the center of it all. Something with lots of blood, maybe some corpses, really psychotic shit.

What he got was a shrine to a forgotten era. If not for the woman suspended in a glass dome like a music box dancer, the room would have looked fairly normal. Dave circled around the class case. The woman was pretty obviously dead, but she was also amazingly preserved. A metal rod disappeared under the long, old fashioned dress she wore. He tried not to think of exactly where the rod went. As horrible as the thought was, it was it made him smile. He looked over at Grey, who was examining an ancient looking Victrola across the room. "You think he stuffed her or something?"

Grey turned the gramophone and moved the needle to the record. A big band dance number filled the room. At the same time, the pole holding the frozen upright slowly began to turn. When the woman was facing the double doors at the far side of the room, there was a loud click. Dave tense, expecting some kind of trap to spring.

Nothing happened.

"This is it, I think," Grey said.

Dave followed Grey to the doors, all the while thinking the worst was probably yet to come.

He was right, even if he couldn't have possibly expected what was beyond the door. The attic room was a dark hole compared to the brightly lit shrine it connected to. The only piece of furniture was a metal frame bed. There weren't even any sheets on it, there were just shackles attached to the skeleton lying on the bed. A stake was driven through its heart. As Dave slowly approached the bed with Grey, he saw the skeleton was surrounded by a pile of ashes.

"Is that…"

"Who else." Grey sifted his hand through the ashes and rubbed them between the fingers.

"I don't get it." Dave shook his head slowly. "It couldn't have been the stake that killed him. I mean, _I _was staked…" In drawing breath to speak, Dave smelled something odd. It was familiar, but he couldn't quite place what it was.

"You're right," Grey said. His voice had that horrible distant quality to it again. "It was likely what was done _after_ he was staked."

"Lacroix's gonna be pissed," Dave looked up as he finally realized what that smell was. "Do you smell something burning?"

"Grout!" The bellowed name drew their attention to an open door on the far side of the room. Firelight was flickering just beyond it, which explained part of the smell. "Lay low and be cleansed by flames!"

Grey ran to the door. Dave followed, though he regretted it once he saw what was on the other side. The door opened on a narrow balcony overlooking the massive ballroom at the center of the mansion. A man with graying blonde hair was standing on the balcony across the room. He wore a long leather trenchcoat and a crucifix that glinted in the light of the flames. Unlike the guys they'd encountered back at the Ocean House, Dave got the feeling the man was the real deal. He seemed unconcerned that flames were licking up the walls on either side of them, while the sight alone terrified Dave. He fought to maintain composure. It wasn't near them yet, though it was spreading quickly.

"I'm not- _neither_ of us is Grout! You already killed him!"

"Grout is dead?" The hunter looked genuinely surprised. "A pity it could not be by my own hand!" A made a throwing away gesture, or maybe it was meant to indicate the spreading flames. "No matter! Soon your self-made kings and false prophets, and all who bear the mark of the beast, will be washed from the earth, for the coming of the Lord!"

"Hold on a second!" Dave yelled. "Can't we talk about this like rational hu— people?"

"Not when everything is on fire," Grey hissed through clenched teeth.

The hunter crossed his arms, still completely unconcerned about the fire now crawling across the ceiling.. "As you burn, tell them it was Grünfeld Bach who sent your damned soul to that lake of fire! All agents of Satan shall return to whence they came!" He opened his arms wide and stared up at the roiling flames. "Let this righteous display serve as a promise to all who serve the archfiend LaCroix! I'm coming for you, LaCroix! By the power of the Lord, I will cleanse your black soul!"

The fire was coming towards them. If the lunatic across the way wanted to burn in the righteous flames he set himself, he was welcome. Dave turned and ran. Grey followed close behind him. They didn't go far before they encountered more flames. They tried another way, only to find more blocking their way. They were surrounded. The heat was terrible, the smoke would have been choking if either of them still breathed. Dave turned in circles, searching for some way out, but all he could focus on was the flames. He tried to call out to Grey for help, some direction, anything, but the fear rose in him like bile.

The thing instead him was terrified, and so Dave was terrified. It was impossible to fight in when death was all around them. Instead of words, an inarticulate howl rose from his throat. The red haze that clouded his vision was barely noticeable with the fire all around him. The Beast fled. Burning timbers collapsed around it as it ran, but that was all the more reason to keep running. In the end there was only one way left out, an open door, a darkened room the fire had not reached. The window was not open, but that did not stop it. The Beast lept, glass erupted with it out into the night.

It left Dave lying in the front yard of the burning mansion, only slightly singed. He coughed, even if there was no real reason to. His clothes were, miraculously, only slightly singed.

But he was alone.

"Grey?" Dave clambered to his feet. No answer. No sign of Grey either.

He looked up. The mansion was engulfed in flames. Just looking at it made the Beast stir uneasily once more.

"Grey!" Dave yelled. "GREY!"

Right on cue, Grey jumped from the same window Dave had come from. Dave was so relieved to see he was okay, he didn't think to get out of the way. He put his arms out, but by then he only had time to catch him right before they were both knocked to the ground.

The cab was still waiting for them. The driver said nothing about the fire, or how they looked, or how they smelled. Dave liked that kind of professionalism.

Lacroix wasn't happy to see them back in his office.

"The primogen still haven't been contacted by Grout. I thought I made it clear that you were not supposed to come back until we had heard from him."

Dave and Grey exchanged glances.

"Grout's dead," Dave said.

"His voice is silenced," Grey agreed. Dave shot him a confused at that. He'd gone hours without saying anything weird like that, and now… Grey simply smiled.

It was a bad time for questions. Lacroix turned from the window. The look on his face was worrisome. "Grout's dead?" he demanded. "What?"

"Yeah," Dave said. "And there was this guy, Bach… He set the house on fire. Nearly killed us both."

"He says hi," Grey added.

"Bach!" Lacroix put a hand to his head, like the name alone made his head hurt. "Every time I think he's lost the scent..." He clenched his hand into a fist. "So, Bach killed Grout to draw me out."

"Not exactly…" Dave said.

"Grout was silence before Bach arrived," Grey said. "Strange that I didn't hear it… I should have… I usually do… Hmm."

"Bach is a hunter." Lacroix stalked around the desk to face the two of them. "They stalk and kill our kind to appease their God. But like many mortals, their so-called faith is nothing but a conduit through which they quench their killing urge." He stopped when he was standing a single pace away from them, so close that Dave leaned back a little when Lacroix yelled, "Who _else_ would have killed Grout?!"

"Uh, well…" Dave said. "Nines was-" Grey hit him.

Lacroix leaned closer. "Nines was what? Let him finish!"

Dave looked helplessly to Grey. He hadn't meant to say it, but that plus Grey hitting him for mentioning it made it impossible too backpedal. "Nines was leaving the mansion when we got there."

The words came out in a rush, like saying it quickly would soften the blow. It didn't.

Lacroix looked shocked. Grey looked furious. Dave seriously wished he was somewhere else at that moment. Lacroix ignored Grey in favor of Dave. He'd been the one to blurt it after, all. "Look at me… Are you sure it was Nines Rodriguez? Because if it was, the consequences… Do you know where this might light?" The calm that washed over Lacroix was more terrible than any look of anger. His voice dropped to a whisper, "Do you have any idea?"

"I, uh…" The look on Grey's face was giving Dave a few unpleasant ones. "I just know it looked like him.

"It means..." Lacroix stopped and finally looked to Grey. "Under _most_ circumstances, I would call a blood hunt on the murderer immediately. However the Anarchs of this city may interpret such an action to be a declaration of war." He and Grey were practically staring each other down. "I do not want a war with them."

Lacroix turned from them and walked back around his desk. "This decision will take some time."

Dave watched Grey closely. Grey looked like he was contemplating something incredibly stupid, but the Sheriff was also watching him closely. The Prince ignored all of this as he stared out the window. "I need to confer with the primogen on this. In the meantime, I've come to a decision on the Ankaran Sarcophagus, and I believe that for the safety of the inhabitants of this city, we need to place the sarcophagus under Camarilla protection, until its contents can be confirmed."

Dave already knew where this was going. "You're becoming quite indispensable to me, so - out of all my available personnel, I'm going to entrust the retrieval of the sarcophagus to you. It was quietly delivered to the Museum of Natural History a few hours ago."

"But I just… We almost-"

Lacroix turned back to him, his eyes narrowed. "Let me finish."

Dave shut his mouth. Grey was still unnervingly quiet.

"You don't like me, I'm quite aware of this," Lacroix said. "I can be a bit harsh at times, I know… but you must remember, the responsibility of this city's Kindred rests on my shoulders. So naturally, I cannot always be a patient man. But you have been of service and it is appreciated."

"This also is very important, thus why I must call upon you once more. You success in the previous assignments has been unprecedented. Now, more than ever, I need your skill."

The flattery meant nothing to Dave. But he couldn't refuse, especially after what he'd seen Lacroix do to Grey the night before. He didn't argue, and Lacroix went on. "The Ankaran Sarcophagus was quietly delivered to the Museum of Natural History a few hours ago. I would like you to bring it back here for safekeeping."

Dave glanced at Grey, who was still no help. "Fine."

"It's crucial we get the sarcophagus in our possession within the next few hours." Lacroix opened a draw in his desk and tossed a small ring of keys to Dave. "Those are the keys to the roof access of the museum. We couldn't have you walking in through the front, now could we?"

"I guess not," Dave said sourly.

Lacroix ignored his tone. "The sarcophagus should be in an examination room of some sort. There's a small security staff on site, but I don't want a massacre. Mortals are just as easy to deceive as they are to kill." He smiled at Dave. "But I'm sure you're well aware of that by now."

"Yeah…" Dave said. "Can I go?"

Lacroix waved him off. "The car is waiting. Oh, and as with the Dane, you are not to open the sarcophagus, understand?"

Dave nodded. Grey silently followed him to the elevator.

When they were halfway down, Dave said, "I think maybe I better do this one on my own."

"I think you're right," Grey said. His expression was very dark. "There's some things I need to take care of."

Dave nodded. "Just… just tell Nines I'm sorry, alright?"

Grey said nothing in response to that.


	26. A Sign of the Times

**Chapter 26: A Sign of the Times**

Grey went across down to find a payphone. It seemed moderately safer that way, though he knew Lacroix knew he would warn Nines. Down the street he could see people in brightly colored hazmat suits flowing in and out of an apartment building, but plagues were the least of his concern at the moment. This, at least, was one thing he could forestall. The phone rang far too many times before, at last, Damsel picked up.

"I need to talk to Nines," Grey said.

"Grey? What-"

"Now! Just put him on now!"

"Jesus, alright, alright. Hold on a sec."

He heard the clatter as the phone was put down, and the loud music that filled the Last Round was filtered through the phone. Grey held it slightly away from his ear until he heard Nine's voice.

"Nines!" Grey leant close to the phone, as though that could stop anyone from eavesdropping. "You have to leave town. You have to hide. You have to-"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa," Nines said. "Slow down. What's wrong?"

"It's… it's complicated. I went to Grout's mansion with Dave. We saw you there, only I know- I'm fairly certain- it wasn't you. But Lacroix knows. He's thinking of using it as an excuse to call a Blood Hunt. He knows I'll warn you. I saw it in his eyes. He'll do it anyway just to… Well, you know."

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me." Nines said. Grey could hear the anger seething from the voice. "How the fuck could I have been at Grout's? I was here all night!"

"Masks? Phantasms? I don't know! But I do know Lacroix will use this..."

"Right…" The sound shifted, the music returned, and Nine's cursing was muffled until he brought the phone back to his lips. "Look, I appreciate you warning me, but you better lay low… what about your boy?"

"I can only do so much. Lacroix…"

"Yeah, yeah, I know. Life boons. Utter bullshit."

"Yeah." Grey almost moved to hang up the phone when he heard Nines say his name. "What?"

"Are you alright? You sound different."

"I wish I could explain, but I can't. Be careful, Nines."

Grey hung up and hurried back to his haven. As if anywhere was safe.

Grey was surprised to find a woman waiting in his apartment when he got back. She stood up from the couch as soon as he stepped through the door. She beamed at him.

"Heather…" He'd almost forgotten about her. But then he remembered the night before. She was waiting for him outside of Venture tower the night before. At first he took her appearance to be some apparition come to haunt him, the ghost of the girl who had drank his blood and still died. She was much improved from when he'd found her dying in the Santa Monica clinic, but even so he was far from glad to see her. She ran up to him like an adolescent fan girl, babbling about how she'd been looking all over for him, about how she felt she had to repay him. Grey tried to shake her off, but the thought of what she might do once the vitae withdraw hit stopped him. He told her to come to his place the next night, and was incredibly unnerved to find out she already knew where he lived. How much else did she know?

Not enough, otherwise she wouldn't be standing there.

"I told the superintendent I was your girlfriend and he let me in," Heather said. "I hope you don't mind."

"I'm only slightly disturbed by that," Grey said. He edged past her to sit down on the couch. Heather quickly sat beside him. When Grey slid over, she moved with him, until he was stuck pressed against the arm of the couch.

"I cleaned everything up," Heather said. "Just like you told me to."

"Did I?" Grey glanced around the room. The apartment did seem cleaner.

Heather nodded eagerly. "Uh-huh! I fed the fish, I made your bed, I cleaned the bathroom. I… Well, I'll have to tackle the storage room later. Do you like it? I meant it when I said I'd do anything for you." She put her hand on his leg. Grey had nowhere to go. "Anything."

He pushed Heather away as she leaned closer. She wasn't exactly his type. She wasn't bad looking, but by the same token she was average, painfully average. The brightly colored spaghetti strap top and jeans she wore were average, the vintage frames of her glasses were average, even dyed bright red she was average. And yet, driven by his own guilt and burgeoning split personality, he had saved her life. There was no telling what effect his blood would have on her, but he knew painfully well what the lack of it would do.

"Before we go on, there's something I should tell you…" Grey said.

"What is it?" Heather sat back, finally allowing him a little space. "You're not married, are you?"

"I never had the chance," Grey muttered. There was no point dragging things out. "I'm a vampire, Heather. I saved your life by feeding you my blood, and because of that you're bound to me." He gave her a hard look. "Still love me?"

"What?" The revelation made Heather slide back a little more, until a wide stretch of couch was between them. She laughed nervously. "You're joking, right? That's like slang for something, right? Like catcher, or some weird fetish term, right?"

"Nope." Grey shook his head. "Vampire. Blood sucking fiend and all that. As we speak my blood is intermingling with your own. The word for you is 'ghoul'." He left out the part about how, with a few more sips of his own blood, she'd end up almost as deranged as he was. Though, as he thought about it, everything was strangely quiet, and the world around him was stubbornly mundane. That felt odd.

"No," Heather shook her head. "No, there's no such thing. You're… This isn't funny anymore."

Grey grabbed her arm to stop her from getting up. "You wanted to be with me, didn't you? This is the price. Stay with me, and I can make you feel incredible. I can protect you. Leave, and… Well, I won't stop you." He didn't particularly want to have to kill her in the hallway, either.

"No! Please!" Heather sat back down. "I'll stay. I promise I'll… Look, I don't care what you are, just don't leave me alone. I couldn't stand that. I'd go insane."

"Oh, you will."

"What?"

"Nevermind." The silence was gnawing at him. Why was it so quiet? He waited, but there wasn't a whisper, or a snicker, or so much as a scream. That was wrong, that was very, very wrong. Heather was staring at him adoringly, oblivious to the turmoil in his mind. "Heather, darling, could you do something for me?"

She leaned closer. "Anything for you."

As Grey pulled her closer, he decided she really wasn't that dull looking. As he sank his fangs into her throat he couldn't help but think of Sherri. It was Sherri's fault that all of this had happened. As Grey fed, all he could hear was the pounding of Heather's heart. When he pulled away, it was still quiet. He licked the wound and laid her gently on the couch and waiting for her to recover. And the same time he strained to hear anything over the cobweb. The silence alone was deafening. He heard a soft sigh, but it was only Heather.

"Scary, isn't it?" Grey looked up. Paul was leaning over the back of the couch. "You spend so much drowning in your own delusions and you learn to breath it in. Then, when you finally get a breath of fresh air, you choke."

"Pretty words, coming from you," Grey whispered.

"Oh don't give me that." Paul rolled his eyes. "I was just saying after all this 'woe is me, cursed to madness' bullshit, you should be happy to see it let up."

"It isn't right," Grey hissed. "It's not supposed to 'let up'. And if I'm so sane now, what are you still doing here?"

Paul grinned. "Excellent point."

He vanished. Grey allowed himself to relax a little.

_Just wait_, a voice said. It was familiar, but it definitely was not his own. _In time it will all become clear. You just have to be patient._

Grey felt foolish for looking around. He was not there. He would never be there, and yet he kept looking. He heard the faintest muttering across the cobweb, too low to make out, and then it was quiet again. His chorus was gone, and Grey was surprised to find he missed their jeers. Most of all he missed their insight. Without them, he felt he was set adrift. Without them, he had no one to tell him all the things he should never know.

_Patience._

"Easy for you to say," Grey muttered. "You're dead."

Heather opened her eyes and looked at him. "Did you say something?"

"Nothing, my pet." Grey leaned close and brushed a lock of hair from her face. The gesture of tenderness was empty, but it still made her smile as she stared into his eyes. "Just rest."

He left her on the couch while he tried to make sense of what was going on.

It was getting late when Dave finally returned. Heather was in the storage room trying to make sense of the mess Grey had made of it. Grey felt like an idiot for throwing everything there in the first place… And for throwing out the TV, and the phone. He missed those things now. Grey was mulling over what had driven him to that when Dave came in.

Instead of using the front door, he came in through the air vent under the stairs.

"That's novel."

"I told you, I can't risk having the neighbors see me." Dave replace the grate over the vent and got back to his feet.

"How did it go?"

"You're not gonna believe this," Dave said as brushed the dust from his pants. "But the sarcophagus was-"

"Hold that thought." Grey was from the couch and, without any explanation, walked over to the storage room that, years ago, had simply been a laundry room. Dave drifted closer uncertainly. Grey gestured that he wait a moment before calling, "Heather, sweetheart, could you come out here for a moment?"

"Who the hell is Heather?" Dave asked.

His question was answered a moment later as Heather stepped out of the room.

"You know you have a lot of books for someone who doesn't have a-"

The sight of Dave stopped her cold. Grey stepped up behind her and had his hand over her mouth just in time to stifle that scream that followed. He was forced to pull her closed against him as her second impulse was to flee from the sight of the creature standing into the living room. Dave looked confused and a little hurt. Grey didn't blame him.

"I know this wasn't the best way to do this," Grey said. "But… Heather, this is my friend, Dave. Dave, this is Heather. My ghoul."

Dave stared at Heather, whose eyes were still wide with fright. "Since when do you have a ghoul?"

"It's a long story." Grey said. "I'm more interested in yours." He looked down at Heather. Her breathing came quick and ragged as it rushed through her nose and over his hand. "Heather… If I take my hand away will you be civil? Dave can't help the way he looks, you know."

"You could have warned me," Dave muttered. "I could have hid or something."

"End result's the same," Grey said. "Well, Heather?"

Heather nodded, and Grey slowly took his hand away.

Heather pointed at Dave. "Why do you- how- I don't…"

"_Breathe_, Heather," Grey said.

She didn't listen. Grey caught her just as her eyes rolled back in her head and her knees buckled. He carried her back over to the couch with him. Dave remained where he was. He looked angry.

"That's really cold, man," Dave said. It was hard to say if he meant for Heather or for him. Probably both.

"She's had a lot to take in tonight," Grey said. "Introducing someone to the supernatural is a lot like teaching them to swim. Sometimes you just have to throw them in the deep end and hope they get the idea."

"There's also, y'know, easing them into it."

"Yes, now if only someone had be so kind to us…" Grey sat down on the couch and draped heather across it with him, resting her head in his lap so it looked as though she'd simply fallen asleep like that. There was no telling how long she'd be out.

Better make the most of it.

"So, you were saying?" Grey asked. "About the sarcophagus?"

Dave sighed. "Right…"


	27. A Night at the Museum

**Chapter 27: A Night at the Museum**

Even if he felt safer for it, Dave didn't like being forced to find alternate routes into every place he went to… Sewers, basements, roof exits. He hated creeping around, always worrying that someone was going to see him and start freaking out. But that was his life now. That, and getting dragged all over the city at Lacroix's bidding. He wasn't sure what he was going to do with the sarcophagus once he found it, but at least there weren't going to be any explosives involved this time. Carrying that Astrolite around had been a pain. Dave pulled the hood of his sweatshirt up before continuing down the stairs from the roof. If someone got a good look at him he was screwed, but at least the hood would help a little from a distance.

As he turned the corner from the roof access, Dave came face to face with a very large velociraptor. He yelped in surprise, only to feel incredibly dumb once he realized it was just a statue. A very lifelike statue. A note was pinned to its chest. Apparently Dave wasn't the first to stumble upon the thing, and the reference to leaving keys lying gave him some hope for seeing things play out smoothly. He'd already wasted half the night wandering and almost burning up with Grout's mansion, so he couldn't afford to waste any time. He wandered through the narrow corridor, passing countless closed doors with plaques on them marking what exhibit the door led to. At last he came to a door that was hanging open. Behind it he found several cans of paint and a set of keys. Glancing around, just to make sure the writer of the angry note wasn't anywhere nearby, Dave pocketed the keys. It wasn't really stealing when he had no use for them outside of the place. 

He circled the entirety of the access corridors but found no way down. The only doors out led into the museum proper, and as Dave waited behind he could hear the footsteps of a night guard passing through. Dave waited until they had faded completely, took deep breath, and slipped through the door. As soon as the door was shut, he concentrated on removing himself from the picture. He waited and prayed no one had seen him in the second in between. There were no cries of alarms, or any alarms. He was safe. He hurried out of the alcove and, hugging the walls, moved towards the stairs leading to the first floor. He met no opposition on the way to the stairs, or down them, but as soon as he reached the bottom another security guard walked by. He stopped and swung his flashlight toward the stairs. Dave froze, the light dazzled his eyes. He was so fucked.

The light swept away from him and the guard continued his patrol. There was no time to wait for the tension to drain out of him. As long as he was out in the open he was going to be on edge, even if his powers kept the guards from seeing him. A placard next to a door reading 'Employees Only' drew Dave over, even if it meant shadowing the same guard who had passed him just a moment before. Dave was forced to stand and wait for the man to turn before trying the keys on the lock. When the first key failed to turn the lock, Dave desperately wished he remembered where he put his lock pick. He hissed a curse under his breath as the second failed, and by the time he tried the third he was so agitated he was barely able to get the key in the lock. The third key worked, and Dave was quick to slip into the room. It turned out to be a large office space divided by cubicles. 

Dave pressed himself against the back of the door and waited. No hurried footsteps, no voices. He was safe. He was still a long way from his goal, but the important thing was he had made it that far without anyone even suspecting he was there. He allowed himself a raspy chuckle. For the first time since he'd been embraced he felt invincible. He could waltz wherever he pleased, and no one would see them unless he wanted them to… or unless he screwed up. The joy died quickly when he thought of what would happen if someone did spot him. They wouldn't see a criminal, they'd see a monster. And then what? Dave pushed those thoughts out of his mind and slowly moved through the rows of cubicles. All the computers were off, and there was nothing on the desks of any real interests, just family photos and comics clipped from newspaper. It was weird that such a mundane place could feel so alien to Dave. 

The door at the other end of the room was locked, but Dave found the right key after the eighth try. The door let to another set of stairs. At the bottom was tiny break area comprised of a few vending machines, a table with a coffee pot, and a few old chairs. Just beyond it were colored strips on the floor. A sign on the wall indicated that green was the tour route, while red led to areas restricted to museum staff. 

"Well, that explains where to go," Dave murmured.

He wished Grey was with him. Even if he was bad company most of the time, at least that was something.

He could hear footsteps approaching. More guards. Dave quickly focused on the things around him- the table, the vending machines, the bare wall behind him. He held only his surroundings in his mind, effectively painting himself out of the picture. When the security guard passed, he didn't see him. Dave closed his eyes. The suspense was getting to be annoying. 

The more he thought about his ability the hide, the more depressing it was. This was the only thing saving him from a death sentence he should have received before. The rest of his existence would depend on in for as long as he live. He could walk right through the middle of a crowded street and no one would ever see him… but that was the thing, the wouldn't see him. He could move close enough to touch anyway, but he couldn't touch them without inviting disaster. The more he thought about that, the more it depressed him. It made it hard to concentrate. He bit his lip and forced himself to focus. Opening his eyes, Dave followed the red and green lines until it veered away from the green. 

The offices were much nicer than below, and the security was much tighter. Twice Dave was forced to press himself against the wall, and twice he was left figuratively holding his breath until they passed by without seeing him. At the center of everything was a room with plate glass windows that looked in on the security guard dozing behind rows and rows of monitors. Dave saw the hall he was standing in on one of the screens, the picture was slowly panning towards the windows of the security room. Dave tensed. He hadn't thought about the cameras. He stood perfectly still, as if that would save him once he appeared on screen.

The screen showed an empty hallway outside the window. Dave looked up as the camera slowly panned back. The camera was just as blind to him as the security guards. Dave grinned and hurried on his way. For the moment, despite all the drawbacks that went with his abilities, he felt invincible again.

Now if only he could walk through doors.

The restricted path disappeared under a door with a key pad for a lock. Dave barely kept himself from swearing out loud. He doubled back and cut down the hallway running between the offices. All the doors were closed except for one. A light was on in the office beyond, but no one was inside. Dave slipped inside to find the desk beyond was covered in yellow sticky notes. There were appointments, next to phrases that meant nothing to Dave, and lying on top of the mess was a sheet of legal paper with a hastily scribbled note.

The owner for the office apparently had a thing against computers. The note was to inform him that an e-mail had been sent out informing all personnel the code for the lab doors had been changed. His luck was proving to be unbelievable, so unbelievable that Dave was start to suspect it was all too good to be true. He'd have to question it later. He hurried back to the locked door and, careful to wait until the guards were away and the nearest camera was off him, he punched in the code and moved through. There were no guidelines left to show him the way, he was well into where he shouldn't be. Dave passed by a window overlooking a loading dock, and then another darkened room filled with monitors. The two guards on the other side of the glass were talking loudly as they stared at the computer at the center of it all.

"What do you mean it won't let you in?"

"Just what I said, goddamnit! The sensors are offline, but it keeps saying they're working fine."

The other guard stomped back to the window and peered out, drawing Dave's attention to a number of odd, circular devices placed on the wall.

"They're not on!"

"Well, it says they are!" The guard at the computer pounded something out on the keyboard to no effect. He threw his hands up. "What the fuck! This doesn't make any sense."

"What about the cameras?"

"They're okay."

The other guard pondered this. "Fine, whatever. Make a note about it. I'm going on break. Nothing in this goddamned place ever works right."

Dave slipped past the window and the dead sensors. There were no more cameras to worry about, but there was a door with a card reader under the handle. Around the corner was another hallway that dead ended with guard facing the door. Dave hoped like hell that it was the last door, but even it was there was still the little problem of getting the key. It was completely unnecessary to creep up on the guard as long as he was hidden, but approaching him from the front compelled him to do it anyway.

A series of loud beeps stopped Dave just a few feet away from the guard. He stood frozen, his eyes wide, as the guard quickly reached down to his belt. His hand moved to his gun, then passed it to his pocket. He withdrew a slender cell phone and flipped it open. Whatever popped up on screen made him grin like an idiot. As Dave slipped around to his side he saw the man's girlfriend, or whoever it was who sent him the picture, had a hell of a rack. Dave gave him a moment to enjoy it before he hit him.

He knew how to know a person unconscious in theory, but the technique wasn't something he'd ever had the chance to practice before. It required just the right amount of force on just the right place on the head. Too little and you just pissed the victim off, too much and… Well, he'd already come close to killing someone once before that night. The phone clattered to the floor as the guard crumpled. He went down so suddenly Dave feared he'd done it too hard, but once he knelt down to search him he was relieved to see he was still breathing.

"Sorry about that," Dave whispered as he slipped the card key out of the man's pocket. 

The door led to a massive warehouse sectioned off by chain link fences. The sheer amount of ancient crap pilled there was staggering. There were vases, paintings, statues, boxes, but none of it looked big or rectangular enough to be what he was looking for. There was one more door left, one important enough to be surrounded by a fence of its own.

"Aw, man," Dave sighed. 

Sick and tired of hunting for the right keys, he decided it was time he just broke open the lock and forced his way in. Only the lock was already broken, and the door past the gate was standing slightly open. Light poured in from the other side. Dave nudged the door open and stepped inside to find the remains of a very large shipping crate lying on the floor in the center of the room. 

Numb with shock, Dave slowly moved further inside. He slowly circled the dismantled crate, as if doing that was going to make the sarcophagus appear before him. Dave pressed his hands to his head. He was really, _really_ fucked now.

"I can't understand why someone would go through the trouble of stealing a box with a very ancient corpse," A voice said. Dave spun around to find Beckett standing just inside the door. He smirked as he looked down at the mess. "This city's not _that_ dull."

"Beckett? What are you… No, nevermind, what are you talking about?"

Beckett's smile widened. "I'm something of an archaeologist, so I thought I'd indulge in a quick study of this Ankaran Sarcophagus everyone's so riled up about. My guess, from what I've read about it, is that it's a mummified Mesopotamian king. I needed confirmation."

"But then what happened to it?"

"Since it's missing, I'm inclined to believe it was stolen, or intentionally misplaced, if you like." He made a sweeping gesture at the empty room. "Clearly though, it's not here."

"Then who took it!" Dave was so agitated he forgot he didn't have hair to rake his fingers to until they were running over his bare scalp. "Cause it looks like just spent like an hour creeping through here trying to find keys for nothing, and that's not even the low point of my night."

"Ah, but weren't you here to take it away?" Beckett asked. Dave was getting really sick of the way he smiled at him. "Wouldn't that make you the intended thief?"

"Look, I didn't exactly have a choice… And how do I know you didn't steal it, huh?"

Beckett laughed. "If I stole it, I would know where it was, and most likely wouldn't be looking for it here." He moved over to the crate and idly nudged one wooden panel with the toe of his boot. "

"Every supernatural creature in Los Angeles is suspect, as are most human thieves. I suppose we may want to question magicians as well."

"Magicians?" As he spoke, Dave realized Beckett smelled a lot like dirt.

"Otherwise known as mages," Beckett said. "They're only human of course, but their powers and knowledge of the occult make them quite formidable." 

"Yeah, tell me about it…" The quizzical look Beckett gave him reminded Dave of their last encounter. "Oh, yeah, I kinda forgot to mention that before… Me and Grey ran into a bunch of them at this haunted hotel. One of them made everything around him rot really quickly, only it made him rot too. That was how we got away." He thought back on the other man, the one with the crises of faith, and felt bad about leaving him there lying on top of his friends corpse on the lower level. His friends probably got him out all right.

"Interesting," Beckett said. "Doubtless you're lucky to have survived that encounter."

"Yeah, that and everything after it." Dave sighed. "Okay, seriously, why's everybody so riled up over this stupid box? You didn't get to take a look at it before it was stolen, did you?"

"Oh, I really wish I had." Beckett shook his head, and for once he showed some genuine in emotion in the look of disappointment that crossed his face. "All this speculation about the sarcophagus containing an Antediluvian and being a portent of Gehenna is making me cringe. These are the kinds of ridiculous, superstitious assumptions I came here to debunk."

"Gehenna?"

Beckett rolled his eyes. "Armageddon, doomsday, the end of all Kindred. It's a common facet of most mythologies - fear that the world will end. Many believe Caine and the Antediluvians will return to consume or destroy all Kindred. I wholeheartedly disagree… I'm surprised Grey didn't mention any of this to you."

"Grey's kinda been wrapped up in his own problems lately." Dave said, tapping the side of his head for emphasis. "What do you mean by Antediluvians?"

"No one _I_ know has ever met one, but each of the clans and their bloodlines supposedly trace their origin to an original vampire - an Antediluvian. Some swear these grandsires still exist into the present." Beckett's smirk returned. "But then, Kindred and kine believe a lot of strange things."

"And Caine?"

Beckett steepled his fingers. Dave hadn't noticed he was wearing leather gloves until then. "Caine is the biblical first Kindred and founder of the mythological First City, Enoch - a place where Kindred and kine coexisted. I believe Caine's a figure concocted to personify the transition from nomadic society to agrarian society. That myth, like most, has been twisted by time."

It was only getting later, but Dave could help but keep asking questions. "Are there any other signs? Of Gehenna, I mean."

"What prophecy doesn't have vague, apocryphal signs?" He counted them off on his gloved fingers. "Let's see, the usual ones cited are the appearance of thin-bloods, Caine sightings, doom, gloom, that route." 

The topic apparently had Beckett good and worked up. His sunglasses slipped as he began to pace, and before he pushed them back up Dave caught a glimpse of his eyes. They looked like amber cat's eyes, but as brief as the look was Dave wasn't sure if that was true. He didn't want to interrupt, anyway.

"As I said, many cultures have the fear of some form of apocalypse. Kindred believed in these stories when they were human, and naturally carried them over into Kindred myth. But it doesn't take a supernatural act to cause widespread destruction." Beckett gestured vaguely upwards. "Humans and Kindred are just as capable of managing their own destruction as a deity. A self-realized Gehenna warrants more vigilance than a god-induced one, don't you agree? Such is my argument... which so frequently falls on deaf ears." He shook his head and stopped pacing.

"I should probably get going," Dave said. "I've still gotta deliver the bad news."

"Best of luck with that," Beckett said, patting him on the shoulder. "And, seeing as my work here has stolen away into the night, I might as well do the same."

"See ya around, I guess."


	28. A Little Explanation

**Chapter 28: A Little Explanation **

"That's it?" Grey said.

"Not exactly," Dave said. He had settled on the arm of the couch while recounting his night. Heather was still unconscious with her head in Grey's lap. "I had to go see Lacroix and all… Are you sure she's okay?"

Grey looked down. "Her breathing is steady."

"Uh-huh…" Dave looked at the girl uncertainly. "I still think what you did is pretty fucked up."

"Just finish the story, please."

Dave began to pick at a frayed patch of his jeans as he continued. "Okay, so, I go up to Lacroix's offices, right? And naturally he just assumes I've got the sarcophagus. When I told him I didn't have it, and that it had been stolen, he flipped out. I mean, I seriously thought he was gonna lose it right there and just, you know…"

"That wouldn't be very becoming of him."

"Yeah, he got himself together, lucky for me. But then Lacroix's all like 'Gary…' And he goes on to explain how the Nosferatu were responsible for getting the keys to the museum and stuff, and they were they only ones that knew about it. So if anyone stole it, it was probably them, and it was probably Gary who was behind it, so…"

"I have a feeling I know where this is going."

"Yeah, he kinda got me on technicality since I didn't get the box in the first place. Now I gotta go to Hollywood. He said the Nosferatu live under it, and the, um…"

"The Baron."

"Right, the Baron, some guy named Isaac- Lacroix said he would know how to find them. Do you know him? Isaac?"

"We've met once or twice," Grey said. He traced the curve of Heather's cheek thoughtfully. "I'm fairly certain he's written me off as a babbling lunatic- one beneath his notice."

"Is that good?" Dave asked. "I mean, up until recently…"

"I know."

Dave swung his legs over the side of the couch so he was facing Grey. It made him look like a gargoyle. "So what gives?"

Grey shook his head and slid out from under Heather. "I'll tell you later. For now, it's getting early, and I really don't want to collapse in the middle of conversation again."

"Aw, come on!"

Grey started up the stairs. "Another time, Dave."

"Wait!" Dave awkwardly dismounted the couch to follow after him. "What am I supposed to do if she wakes up?"

Grey didn't pause in his ascent. "I don't know, convince her you're not as bad as you look?"

Dave remained standing at the bottom of the stairs. Heather, from the sound of it, was still out. Grey made it as far as the bedroom door before Dave called out again. He stopped and stared down at him from the railing. He was already beginning to feel sluggish. Dave looked nervous.

"You know that thing with Nines?" Dave said. "Well, it's official."

"Something else to deal with later." Grey said with a slow nod. He was too tired to care about the consequences. "Good night, Dave."

He continued on into the bedroom to find the bed, for the first time in weeks, was made. He collapsed on to it without bothering to pull back the covers. He was dragged off to sleep soon after, sparing him the thought of what complications Lacroix's task and the blood hunt on Nines would bring.

Grey had a strange dream that morning, which was especially odd as he never dreamed. Not while sleeping, anyway. At least not that he could recall.

He found himself sitting in the Seaside Diner again, in the same booth he had occupied the night he had the vision about Dave's embrace. The diner was deserted save for the man sitting across from him, and the sunlight pouring through the window somehow managed to obscure his face. Grey squinted, but could only make out the man's long blond hair. The way the light hit it made it appear he had a halo.

Grey looked down, a bowl of something that was too thick to be tomato soup was sitting in front of him. A cup of something too dark to be coffee was sitting in front of the man. He kept his eyes on the blood-filled bowl.

"Why won't you leave me alone?"

"I can't help but be concerned for your well being," the man said mildly.

"You abandoned me!"

"That doesn't mean I don't care about you," his sire turned his palms out. "There were simply other places I needed to be, and you couldn't follow."

"So why are you here now?"

"I feel I owe you an apology." The dark substance in his coffee cup was trying to crawl out. He paused long enough to hit it with his spoon. "Even the best conditioning can wear away over time, though I know you had a little help. I couldn't tell you this until it did."

"What are you saying?" Though he hadn't touched it, the amount of red liquid in Grey's bowl was gradually decreasing.

"I'm saying that everything I did was for your own protection. There were many who disliked me for whatever reason, but they were afraid to act upon that. If they knew our ties, they would surely strike against you as a way to get to me. That was why I had to make them see something of myself in you."

"I don't understand."

His sire folded his hands together. Grey couldn't see his face, but he knew he was smiling. "The mirror never cracks the same way twice, but it's possible to tinker with the mind enough to make everyone- even you- see faults that are not there. Your choice of words for the past five years, up until recently, was all my doing."

"What?" Grey's voice echoed loudly in the empty diner. "Why?!"

"Because those who knew of your lineage would fear you for it, and those who didn't would think you a harmless, raving lunatic… I'd be lying if I said it didn't amuse me just a little as well." His sire stopped to idly turn the coffee cup. The black stuff inside trembled. "The rest was all you, I promise."

Grey put his head in his hands. "Why are you telling me this?"

"Because time is running out," his sire said.

The bowl was empty now. Grey looked up. "Then what happens next?"

"That I can't tell you," his sire smiled. "You'll just have to see for yourself. Ah, and speaking of bad dreams…" The light pouring through the window grew bright. So bright that it blotted everything else out. All Grey could see was white, but he could still hear his sire's voice. "Our time is up."

"This doesn't help anything, you know!" Grey shouted into the light, but the diner and everything in it was gone.

And then he woke up.

When he stepped out of the bedroom, feeling particularly strange after the dream, Grey found Heather sitting on the couch with an unfamiliar man. Heather had changed clothes, though it was just another variation on college student casual. Grey couldn't make out much of the man from behind, though his voice sounded strangely familiar.

"So there I was, a whole pack of bodyguards on my tail, and who do I run into as I round the corner?"

It didn't click until Grey was near the bottom of the stairs. "_Dave_?"

Dave turned around, "Oh, hi Grey."

"Dave was just telling me about what he used to do," Heather said. She sounded apprehensive, as if Grey could suspect anything else. Hell, if Dave wanted to fool around with her he could care less. His only concern was how normal Dave suddenly looked.

Normal was probably stretching it. Dave's posture was still terrible, but it looked more like a bad slouch than the result of a twisted spine. His skin still had a sallow look to it, but it was free of boils. His teeth still looked bad, but they no longer appeared to be trying to flee from his mouth. Even his fingers, though still long and thin, were nowhere near as bad as they looked before. Ugly as he was, he could still pass for human.

Grey gestured vaguely at him. "How?"

He already knew how, in a way. Those more skilled in the art could move beyond hiding to influencing others into seeing them as whoever they wished. Rumors circulated that more than a few celebrity impersonators roaming LA were really Kindred of one clan or another in disguise. What surprised Grey was that Dave had picked up how to do it so quickly.

Dave shrugged in response to his question. "I dunno, it just sort of happened. I didn't want to freak Heather out anymore than I had-" He gave Grey a hard look for that. "So… Well, it's pretty much the same as hiding. I mean, the other way it's just making people not see me. This way it's making them see what I want… But I guess either way they kinda see what I want. Does that make sense?"

"Sure," Grey said. In the silence that followed he noticed the whispering over the cobweb was back. It was faint, so much so that he couldn't make out any of what was said, there was only the general undercurrent of tension. It was as if the whispering was to keep from drawing too much attention, but attention from whom? Of his own personal chorus there was no sign. He tried to tell himself he should be happy, but he still missed them.

"This should make things easier, right?" Dave said. "I mean, since we've gotta go to LA. I mean, not necessarily we. You could stay and-"

"No," Grey said, a little too quickly. "I'll go. I owe it to you to go."

The truth was the last thing he wanted was to spend quality time at home with his new ghoul. Even if he stayed behind and sent her away, he'd have the unnerving quiet within his own mind to deal with. He desperately needed a distraction. Hollywood would have to do.

"What about me?" Heather said.

"You'll stay here," Grey said.

Heather leapt up from the couch. "But I can be useful! I could protect you! I could give you money, look-" she dug into her pocket and shoved a small wad of cash at Grey. "That's all I've got, but it should help, right?"

"Yes," Grey said. He pocketed the money without a thought. "But it's still better if you stay behind. I'd feel much better knowing you were safe."

Heather looked crushed. "Okay… If you say so."

"Here," Grey said. "Let me make it up to you."

The last thing he needed was Heather running off or going into withdraw while they were away. He raised his wrist to his mouth and bit down. Blood welled slowly into the wound, and as he held his bleeding hand up to Heather the look of disgust the act had inspired was quickly chased away by desire. Grey lightly stroked her hair as she pressed her lips to the wound. There was nothing sensual for him in the act, not when Heather was merely human. As he silently counted to ten, he noticed Dave was watching him with wide eyes.

"I'll explain later," Grey said. He pried Heather off him and held her until her senses returned. "Now, Heather, will you be a good little ghoul why I'm away?"

"Of course," she sighed. "Anything you want. I… I think I need to sit down. I feel so… Everything's so _intense_."

"I have that affect on people," Grey said. He glanced to Dave, who looked utterly confused. "We should get going."

"What was that all about?" Dave asked once they were in the Taxi. It was the same car as before, as well as the same driver with the tacky sunglasses. He dutifully ignored their conversation as he drove.

"Ghouls have to be fed regularly," Grey said. "Otherwise they become regular mortals again. The transition period and the withdraw that goes with it are… Well, let's just say it could get very messy. The second drink reinforced her bond to me." He smiled as he watched the scenery melting past. "By the third, she'll be utterly devoted. Hopelessly."

"Does the same thing happen if one Kindred drinks from another?"

"Yes," Grey said. As soon as the word left his mouth he was reminded of the incident in the sewer. He quickly added, "But one drink wouldn't be anywhere near as potent as a full bond."

Dave was watching him closely. "But what effect _does_ it have?"

Grey shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "It's just a… vague feeling of fondness. Very vague. Infinitesimal."

"Right…" Dave fell silent for a moment. "Sooo… All the stuff you've done for me before, including this… It's not just cause you drank my blood, is it?"

"Of course not!" Grey said. He wasn't all that certain, and it showed in his tone. He glanced to the rear view mirror, but it was impossible to tell if the driver was watching, or if he even cared. "I… We're still friends, Dave. And besides that, I was in a similar situation when I was embraced, but back then I didn't have the Camarilla to worry about. I didn't want you to go through… all that… alone."

"One night you're gonna have to tell me what the hell happened to you."

"I will," Grey said. "But for now we've got to see a man about a rat."

Dave nodded and finally turned his attention away from him. "This'll be the first time I've been in Hollywood since all this started."

"Well, it's not like anyone's going to recognize you."

"Yeah…"


	29. Hurray for Hollywood

**Chapter 29: Hurray for Hollywood**

Cruising through Hollywood was nothing new to Dave. Nighttime was the best time to catch celebrities out drunk off their asses and making fools of themselves. Nothing had changed since Dave died, the same clubs were still there, the same weirdoes were wandering the streets, but it all felt strange. Not long ago, he was one of those people, happily stumbling through life without any clue of what was out there. He wished he could go back in time and shake some sense into himself, but even if he had lived he would just have overdue rent and a lack of profitable pictures to deal with. That still beat being at the mercy of some blood sucking prick with a Napoleon complex.

If he hadn't gone out that night, he wouldn't have known about Grey, either. Dave still wasn't so sure if he was glad to be reunited. A lot had changed. Grey had been dead a lot longer than he had, and it had definitely had a bad effect on him. Every time he thought about it, every time he saw how callous Grey had grown, he worried the same thing would happen to him. He could do better if he was just careful, but then what could be done for Grey?

He was still trying to work out the safest way to bring it up when the taxi pulled to a stop in the parking lot of a Red Spot. As Dave stepped, he realized it was the same convenience store he'd stopped by on the night he died. His last meal as a mortal man was a microwave bean burrito. How embarrassing.

"Something the matter?" Grey asked.

Dave was a little surprised he showed some concern for him. He bit back his first impulse to make a snide remark in favor of, "It's cool… How do I look?"

"Like shit," Grey said with a grin. "But you'll pass."

Dave still looked around nervously. The only people nearby were a group of teenagers hanging around in front of the building. They glared back at Dave as he glanced over. He tried not to smile, that would only rile them. There was still just a flimsy illusion between him and exposure, but people at least saw him now. Sort of.

Grey kept pace with him as they walked out of the parking lot. He was quiet, but he seemed a little calmer than the past few nights. Dave wished he knew what was going on inside his head, but in the next instant he took it back. It was probably better that he didn't.

"You're with the Anarchs, right?" Dave asked. "Where do we go?"

"Actually, it's more like I hang around them and they tolerate my presence. I never exactly got my membership card. They like their members less openly deranged…" He paused and glanced sharply to one side like he'd heard something.

"So that makes you what?"

"An Independent Anarch sympathizer," Grey said, forcing himself to look away from whatever it was. "Which is why, after the ordeal with Nines, I'm not exactly eager to go back to the bar. Damsel and Skelter would more than likely take turns pulverizing my-" He stopped abruptly. Dave, who had been watching Grey as he walked, followed his gaze ahead. A man was approaching them. He wore dark sunglasses and a t-shirt that was clinging to his muscles for dear life, and he wasn't so much walking towards them as strutting in a vaguely threatening fashion.

"Should we…?" Dave wasn't sure how to finish that sentence. Should they fight? Should they run? He left it up to Grey, though he was leaning heavily towards just running.

Grey was staring at the man oddly. Without taking his eyes off him he said, "I think the welcome wagon has found us."

"How can you tell?"

But by then the man had caught up to them. "Ain't seen you around here before," he said. "And if I haven't seen you, neither has Isaac, so that's your next stop."

"What a coincidence," Grey said, putting his hand on Dave's shoulder. "We were just about to stop by to say hi… So, where do we leave the fruit basket?"

"Isaac's in the jewelry store at the end of the street." The sweeper thumbed over his shoulder. "Consider yourself invited."

"But we're so underdressed," Grey sighed. He turned to Dave. "Alright, if you insist. Let's go make our grand entrance… wouldn't want to get thrown out of the party so soon, would we?" He smiled at the sweeper and dragged Dave with him as he skirted past him. The man remained where he was and watched them go. Dave could feel his eyes boring in to him as they walked down the street.

"What was that?" Dave asked, keeping his voice to a whisper.

"I have a reputation to maintain, remember?" Grey whispered back. "So just act confused and apologize for me a lot."

"That'll be easy."

Isaac's office made Dave nervous. It was tiny compared to Lacroix's penthouse, but having Isaac right there when they stepped inside robbed Dave of the chance to prepare himself for whatever came next. The art deco style to the place was classy, and the elaborate design worked into the marble tile made Dave feel guilty for scuffing it up with his battered old shoes. He got the feeling that was the intended effect, especially once Isaac rose from his huge antique desk to greet them.

Isaac wasn't quite what Dave expected. He was the oldest _looking_ vampire he'd run into yet, but he carried himself well for a man who appeared to be in his fifties. He could only wonder how old he really was. The cut of his suit looked a little old fashioned to Dave, even if he was no expert. The more he looked at it, the more Dave felt like he had stepped back in time to the golden era of Hollywood. He got the cutthroat produce vibe from Isaac even before he opened his mouth.

"Good evening, gentlemen," Isaac said, extending a hand to both of them. He made a point to look both of them in the eye as he shook their hands. "Isaac Abrams."

He stepped back once their half of the introductions were done.

"I've been expecting you," he said, looking to Dave. His gaze flicked to Grey. "But that doesn't explain why you're here."

Grey put his arm around Dave. "This is the star I've hitched my wagon to."

"Really?" Isaac arched an eyebrow. "Well, let's hope that work out for you." He turned his attention back to Dave. "Please, there's no need for disguises here. I'm not squeamish."

Dave looked to Grey, who shrugged. Sighing, Dave dropped the illusion. He was pretty sure Isaac had asked just to make a big show of how well he could hide his disgust. He smiled at Dave once his hideousness was back on display. "That's better. I like know who I'm actually dealing with. Now… What brings you to Hollywood?"

"We're looking for the Nosferatu," Dave said.

"You don't say," Isaac said, the eyebrow arching again. "A sewer rat who doesn't know the whereabouts of the other sewer rats?"

"I'm kinda new at this," Dave muttered. The term 'sewer rat' irked him.

"And yet I hear you're quite the prodigy of LaCroix's."

Dave shrugged. "It's not because I like him."

"Well," Isaac said, pacing around the side of his desk. He lightly ran his fingers along its surface. "Before I tell you anything, there's the little matter of tribute."

The groan was out of Dave's mouth before he could stop himself. Grey was glancing around the room as if there was something darting around it that neither Dave nor Isaac could see. Dave wondered if it was an act.

"Call me old-fashioned, but this is my barony," Isaac said, ignoring Dave's outburst. "And as is tradition, a token of respect must be paid."

"Okay," Dave sighed. "I'll bite. What is it?"

Isaac leaned against his desk. Dave's compliance made him smile. "What I want is a simple exchange. Last week I paid for a certain item - a movie - and this evening I got an email saying that the seller is ready to deliver it. Unfortunately, he's become a bit paranoid all of the sudden."

"Oh, yeah?"

Isaac nodded. "Won't meet me in person, won't drop it off, won't even answer his phone. Says he'll send the location of the pickup to a computer in the nearby internet café tonight." He leveled his gaze on Dave. "You see where I'm going with this?"

"Let me guess," Dave said. "You're worried it's a set up so you're sending me instead?"

Grey snickered. Isaac smirked. "Very good, there may be hope for you yet. Now, here's what I want you to do…" He moved back to them once more, a regular general before his troops. "Go to the Ground Zero internet café, log in as 'Josefk' and use the password 'Kafka'. There should be an email that will specify a nearby location. Meet the contact, pick up the item, come back." He smiled at Dave like he was an idiot child. "Not too painful, right?"

"Right…" Dave muttered.

"Well, then," Grey said, turning toward the door. "Time to play postal carrier. Minus the guns."

Once they were back in the alley beside the store, Dave took his frustration out on a nearby dumpster.

"Dave…" Grey said.

Dave turned on him, "What?!"

Grey's expression remained impassive. He glanced down the alleyway. "If you're going to make a scene, at least put your face on."

Dave ducked behind the same dumpster he had just kicked. Grey turned his back to him without a word and kept watching the mouth of the alley. Dave took a deep breath and held it longer than was humanly possible before exhaling. The anger drained out of him along with the air. He held the image he had worn before in his mind. He could have easily just gone for average white guy instead of average Asian, but that just felt weird. Trying to look how he used to look just felt wrong. Besides that, he didn't want to be recognized around Hollywood. It was enough just to look passably normal. When he was fairly sure he had it, Dave tapped Grey on the shoulder.

"How's that?"

Grey looked him up and down, a bemused look on his face. "Better than before."

"I don't look like me, do I? I mean, before…"

Grey shook his head.

"Good."

It was a short walk down the street to the internet café Isaac had spoke about. The sign out front boasted it was open 24 hours, and even as late as it was there were several people inside. A few looked up as Dave and Grey entered, making Dave tense. No one's eyes went wide at the sight of him, no one screamed, they just went back to what they were doing once they noted the new arrivals.

Grey made the arrangements to get a computer, and Dave looked around nervously why he waited. The place was too brightly lit, and the many different people in the room didn't help. As he glanced around the room, his eyes fell upon a teenage Japanese girl at a computer near the door. He didn't realize he was staring at her until Grey tapped him on the shoulder.

"Little young for you, don't you think?"

"Very funny." Dave followed him over to an open station, where Grey settled in and used the information Isaac had given them. A new e-mail was waiting. Dave read over Grey's shoulder once he opened it.

"Behind the cash place?" Dave muttered. "C'mon, why don't we just exchange brief cases on a park bench?"

"If he wants to play secret agent, we'll play secret agent," Grey said as he logged off.

"Whatever. Let's just get this over with."

They had to walk several blocks to get to the Fast Buck. By the time they got there Dave was good and pissed. He should have gotten used to the errands for older vampires thing, but the fact it was just one thing after another… Well, what could he do?

Nothing.

"There's no point getting angry about it," Grey said, jarring Dave out of a perfectly good sulk. Dave looked at him in surprise. Grey just smiled. "What? You're practically radiating it."

Dave tried to think of something to cheer himself up and failed. He tried to look on the bright side of the whole mess and couldn't find any. One night he was just going to wake up and find that he was the one pushing younger vampires around, and then what? Dave gave up and tried to clear his mind entirely. Best just to focus on the task at hand. By the time they entered the alley beside the Fast Buck Dave was feeling more depressed than anything.

"He did say to come alone…" Grey mused to himself.

"Way ahead of you," Dave said. He slipped behind Grey and disappeared. When Grey started walking again, Dave followed close behind him.

Their courier was standing just around the corner. He was wearing a sweatshirt with the hood pulled low over his face. As he saw Grey approach he eyed him warily. Dave had never seen anyone look so tense. He really hoped he wasn't going to try anything.

"Y-yeah?" The courier said to Grey. "What d'ya want?"

"Are you the guy with the tape?" Grey asked, as if there could be some other shady guy in the alley. "Isaac sent me."

"Ye- yeah." The courier glanced around wildly. The hood slipped from his face in the process. He looked pretty average to Dave, hardly the type for back alley dealings."I-I mean, what? Who the hell is Isaac?! I don't know anyone named Isaac! Get lost, pal!"

"Relax," Grey said softly, meeting the man's eyes. "You can trust me. Now, tell me what the hell is going on here?"

The courier took a deep breath. He still looked incredibly tense. "Alright. S-sorry. It's just that... I mean, something is..." He glanced around again. "I just want out of this whole thing. I don't want anything to do with that damn tape."

"Why?" Grey asked. "What's going on?"

"I - I don't know." The courier glanced around yet again. Dave stepped behind him, even though there was little chance he'd be spotted. "I mean, when it comes to video, I've seen everything - and I do mean _everything_ - but this thing, it's sick. I-it can't be real, but... it is! I know it." The courier pressed a hand to his face. "It's real and it scares the hell out of me."

"How bad could it be?"

"Oh, you have no idea. It's disgusting... that girl... the things that are happening to her. It just ain't right, man. It just ain't right! And now... something's wrong... something's after me." He grabbed Grey by the shirt, desperate to make him believe. "I swear to God, something's after me!"

"Shh… Relax, just relax," Grey said, pushing the man off him. "Hand me the tape, and it'll all be over with."

The tension seem to ooze out of the man with Grey's words, but it was short lived." I don't have it," the courier said, the fear returning in an instant. Grey looked surprised at that. "I stashed it someplace. You need to find Ginger Swan's… Huh?" He looked around wildly. "What the hell was that?!"

Dave tensed, but he was still standing behind the courier, there was no way he could have seen him… could he? The worried look on Grey's thoughts showed he was wondering the same thing.

"Did you see that?!" The courier didn't wait for Grey's response. "I'm getting the fuck out of here!"

The courier took off down the alley. Grey let him go, and though he couldn't exactly see where Dave was standing, he shot a look in his general direction. Dave reappeared once the man turned the corner.

"Don't look at me! I was standing behind him the-"

A shrill scream interrupted him.

"Ah," Grey said, looking to where the courier had disappeared. "Maybe it wasn't you after all."

Grey moved to investigate. Dave reluctantly followed.


	30. The Other Undead

**Chapter 30: The Other Undead**

There was a loud clang as they rounded the corner. The manhole cover they had overlooked on the way over was lying partially off the hole. Grey could smell blood.

"What just happened?" Dave asked. His ugliness was on full display, though it didn't concern Grey much as long as they were standing in the darkened alley. There were alone, without even the Hollywood homeless to bother them. All the more reason to make the most of it.

"Let's find out," Grey said. He pushed the manhole cover completely away from the hole and, before Dave could protest, climbed down. The rungs of the ladder were slick with blood, and the mess only got worse as he continued down. A narrow tunnel extended out into the sewers proper, a strange design choice that would require him to couch if he wanted to see into it, much less crawl through. Grey licked the blood from his hands before stooping down. It only helped to remind him that he hadn't fed in several nights, as far as he could remember.

"What do you see?" Dave called.

Grey squinted as he peered into the access tunnel. In an instant, the shadows melted away as what little light there was intensified. One of the shadows revealed itself to be an arm, the fingers still curled into the concrete. Grey grabbed it by the hand and pulled. It was the courier's arm, without a doubt, and it looked as though something had ripped its from his socket. He waved at Dave with it, who recoiled at the sight.

"That's not funny!"

"It helps to find humor even in the bleakest situation, you know." Grey turned the arm over, but other than the ragged mess where it used to be attached there were no clues. "Otherwise you might go insane." He thought about taking it with him, but even in Hollywood people wouldn't take kindly to a man walking down the street with someone else's severed arm. He gently lay it down and glanced back down the tunnel. There was a blood smear showing where the rest of the body had been dragged, though much as he strained his hearing he could make out nothing but the dripping of water. He couldn't even make out any rats nearby, likely because they were smart enough to flee from whatever was responsible. As Grey shook his head, his hearing returned to normal.

When he climbed back up Dave had donned his unassuming looking mask again. Before he could ask anymore questions, Grey wiped his hands off on Dave's shirt.

"Hey!"

"You're wearing black," Grey said. "And besides that, you can hide it."

Indeed, not so much as a smear showed up on Dave's illusionary clothes.

"Boundaries, man, boundaries," Dave muttered. He crouched down to slide the cover back into place. It proved to be much easier for him that it had been for Grey.

"I only found his arm," Grey said. "There was no sign of the rest of him- or what did it."

"You don't think it was one of the Nosferatu, do you?"

"If it was they're taking things to an extreme."

"What do we do now?"

"Now we deliver the bad news to Isaac."

"You made good time!" Isaac said. "Hand me the tape."

He and LaCroix were more alike than Grey dared to point out. They both expected their will to be carried out quickly and without fail. That was why it felt so good to tell him things hadn't gone so smoothly. Now that he knew there was no reason for him to talk like an escaped mental patient, and that there never had been, the words didn't come to Grey as easily as they once did. He had to think before he spoke.

"It did not travel with him," Grey said. "Wherever it was delivered, it was not in our hands."

"Hmm…" Isaac frowned at that and drummed his fingers on the desk. "Did he at least have a good excuse?"

"His excuse was that he was a dead man."

Isaac's eyes widened, his fingers digging into the fine wood. "You didn't…"

"No!" Dave exclaimed. "He thought something was after him, and he turned out to be right. We didn't see what, but before he died he was saying something about ginger swans."

"Ginger Swan?" Issac said. "Swan… Hmm. No, it's not an animal, it's a name. Brings back a lot of memories. Seventy years ago, wasn't a man in this city that wouldn't have given up his family, career, or anything else for one night with her."

"And where may we view this fossil?" Grey asked.

"That depends..." Isaac smirked. "You believe in an afterlife? Ginger Swan's been dead since the fifties. Twenty years after there were still grown men weeping at her grave. I don't know how she's relevant, but I have faith you'll figure it out."

"This makes no sense…" Grey said. He forced a smile. "Perfect. Let us be off."

"To where?" Dave asked.

Grey gently guided him back outside. "To pay our respects, of course."

"You can't be serious…"

Grey smiled.

The Hollywood Gardens of Rest were closed at the hour, but there was a poorly concealed side entrance open to them. Grey silently thanked the delinquent teenagers responsible and went in first. Dave was quiet. He'd already voiced his displease with the whole course of action at least half a dozen times on the way there. He finally fell silent once Grey asked if he had any better ideas. Once inside, Grey brushed the dirt from his pants and looked around. The cemetery was huge, with tombstones intermingling with elaborate crypts. There were street lights dotting the main path, but nothing to point them in the right direction. It was eerily quiet, as a graveyard should be.

"I really, really don't like this…" Dave muttered.

"So you've said." Grey continued on, weaving his way through the graves. He saw a number of illustrious names carved upon each one, but none of them were Ginger Swan.

"Did you hear that?"

Grey was too absorbed in finding the right name to pay much attention. "Hear what?"

"It sounded like-"

There was a low moan, followed by an odd shuffling sound.

"Like that," Dave whispered.

Grey looked up from the tombstone he was couched by. They were not alone. A desiccated corpse in a ragged suit was shambling towards them. Dust rained down from it as it moved towards them, its dead eyes staring at nothing as it reached out with one bony hand. Its lower jaw was completely missing, and as it groaned at them again its discolored tongue wagged languidly.

"Um, Grey?" There was a shrill note of urgency in Dave's voice. Grey rose slowly and backed away, but the zombie was still advancing upon them. "Please tell me this isn't normal."

"This is very, _very_ far from normal," Grey said, still backing away.

"Okay, that's a relief… How do we kill it?"

The zombie's head exploded in a shower of dust and splinted bone. There wasn't any blood left in the thing to splatter them with. The gunshot responsible didn't register until after the zombie crumpled to the ground.

"Did you see that?!" A jubilant voice cried. A man jumped down from a nearby crypt, a rifle slung over his shoulder. "Man, it's like a fuckin' skeet shoot when they're that old- pieces of skull all over the place. I love that!"

Dave was still hiding behind Grey. Grey was unable to hide his confusion.

"What, nobody told you?" The man said. "See it's like this: every night 'round this time for the past... oh, several months now, the dead've been getting up with an itch to stroll down Hollywood Boulevard. Nobody knows why, but they're working on it.

"You're… Isaac's man?" Grey asked, hazarding a guess.

The man nodded and held out his hand. "Name's Romero. I'm the caretaker here. Well, that is, I don't exactly keep people from getting in, although that is part of my job." He patted his gun after shaking Grey's hand. Dave kept his distance. "No, you see, I'm here to make sure nothing gets out."

"Really?" Grey said, sounding impressed. "Really? I'm in charge of making sure the stars don't go anywhere." He glanced up. "Stay! Good star."

"Um…" Dave slipped out to stand beside Grey. "We're looking for Ginger Swan's grave… she's still in it, isn't she?"

"Hard to tell when they're all corpsified like this," Romero nudged the fallen zombie with one boot. "If she's in the crypts there's a good chance she's still there. That's the oldest part of the cemetery, so most of the corpses there are a bit too decayed to shove their way out of their boxes. Sometimes you hear them scratching, though…"

"You'd think Isaac coulda mentioned this before…" Dave grumbled.

"Nah, the Baron's pretty embarrassed about this whole thing," Romero said. "Hell, he probably knew some of these stiffs back in the day. Besides, the walking dead- no offense to you guys- aren't exactly something you want on the brochure."

"Nevertheless we must go to take in the sights and pay our respects," Grey said. He took a few steps ahead, Dave didn't follow.

"Do we have to?" Dave said. "I mean, I can handle ghosts and all that, but… zombies? Seriously?"

"Ah, you'll be fine," Romero said, giving Dave a brisk pat on the back. "Just stick to the paths, move quickly, and they'll never be able to catch you. They go more for fresh meat anyway, if you know what I mean. Like one time this bunch of Goths broke in…" He whistled through his teeth. "Wasn't pretty."

Grey was already several paces ahead by the time Romero finished his little spiel. He heard Dave's harried footsteps as he ran to catch up.

"Would you stop that?"

Grey glanced over his shoulder, "Stop what?"

"Stop leaving me behind!"

The branches of an overgrown shrub hanging across the path rustled, making Dave jump back. Grey felt just as apprehensive about their surroundings and the task they were stuck with, but he did his best not to show it. He kept moving at a brisk pace, with Dave following so closely he was nearly stepping on his heels with every step. Dave was still his monstrously ugly duckling, even if Grey was still far from being anything close to a swan.

"Cuckoo's more appropriate," Paul's voice whispered. Grey looked around wildly. Dave walked into his back.

"Dave!"

"Sorry! Sorry!"

Dave fell back a respectable distance, and as they rounded the corner the cobblestone path turned sharply downwards. At the bottom of the hill was the mausoleum. A low groan echoed around them, its source impossible to place. Grey glanced to Dave, who nodded, and they both ran downhill.


	31. Assorted Monsters

Chapter 31: Assorted Monsters

**Chapter 31: Assorted Monsters**

Dave made the same mistake made by countless teenagers in countless horror movies, he paused and looked out before closing the door. Out of a dozen old fashioned lampposts lining the main path, only one was still lit. The weak light only helped to make the shadows of the graveyard seemed longer. The dark figures shuffling slowly down the hill were just more shadows in the darkness. Dave slammed the door shut and turned around.

"We should-" but Grey was already ahead of him again. He was peering at the name plates on each of the coffin sized compartments lining the wall.

"We should split up," Grey said. Dave was going to say they should hurry.

"No, no fucking way," Dave said. "Did you _see_ what's out there?"

Grey nodded, still looking over the plaques one by one. "Zombie hordes and one very enthusiastic ghoul with a gun." As if on cue, there was a gunshot in the distance. "We'll be fine."

"But… but… _zombies_!"

"And we're vampires," Grey said dryly. "Personally, I'd worry more about werewolves than anything else."

"Werewolves? Oh god, please don't tell me…"

"Another time, Dave," Grey said. He recoiled slightly from the scratching sounds coming from the latest compartment. It gratifying to see the cool and composed look was just an act. "Let's just get the tape and get out of here."

"That's what I was _trying_ to say before!"

They found Ginger's Swan's gave in a small alcove reserved for high profile corpses. There were dead flowers littering the space, as well as Ginger Swan's remains. The door to her tomb was lying open, the plate that used to cover it was lying just beneath the gaping hole.

"Well, at least we're not the first to defile it," Grey said. Even so, he made a point to step over the dead starlet's skull. Dave eyed it warily. After the walking corpse in the graveyard, a chattering skull didn't seem to far fetched. The skull remained still, even as Grey plunged his hand into the hole.

"Anything?" Dave asked.

"Hold on, I think…" Grey suddenly lurched forward, his arm pulled deeper into the hole. He tried desperately to push himself back with the other, but whatever had hold of him was pulling to hard. He grunted and gritted his teeth, only to be pulled further, until his arm had disappeared up to the shoulder into the hole.

"Grey!" Dave cried, rushing forward.

Grey withdrew his hand, and the videotape, just as Dave reached him. He grinned. Dave smacked the back of his head. He only meant for it to be a light tap, and it definitely felt like that to him, but it sent Grey reeling. He stumbled to one side and fell against the stone bench wedged against the wall. Along the way there was a sharp crack. Dave looked down and saw the last piece of Ginger Swan left was smashed. Grey had his hand pressed against the back of his head.

Dave fought down his first impulse, which was to apologize profusely for hurting him, and folded his arms. "I told you not to joke like that."

Grey waved him off with his free hand. "It's alright, it's nothing…" As he rested his hand on the stone bench he glanced down. "Do you think you could lift this bench? Maybe swing it around?"

Dave looked at him in confusion. "Why?"

That was when he noticed the rattling noise coming from down the hall. Someone was banging on the door. Several someones. Several rotting, flesh eating someones. Dave cringed.

Grey smiled. "Just a thought."

When they got back to Isaac's, Grey thrust the tape out at him before he could ask.

"Ah, I knew you'd come through," Isaac said. "…What happened to you two"

"The forgotten darlings of the silver screen crave attention," Grey said sourly.

"They wanted our brains," Dave added. Every time he spoke he could smell the putrefied bits of guts clinging to his clothes.

Isaac looked the two of them over critically. Dust was the least offensive thing they were both covered in. Some of the corpses Dave had plowed through with the bench had been relatively fresh, and one good swing of the bench sent stuff flying everywhere. After the first wave of corpses, Dave had started to see it like cutting through a dense jungle with a machete… only the jungle was made of dead celebrities all scrabbling to nibble on their flesh. The bench wasn't exactly conventional either, but as light as it felt in Dave's hand it was easy to swing it around. Romero thanked them for the help as they left, Grey said something in return that was a different kind of colorful poetry.

"Yes, well…" Isaac said, wrinkling his nose as the smell hit him. "Your dedication is appreciated. Now, let's see what all the hype is about." He pressed a button under his desk, and the large oil painting behind it raised to reveal a large TV. A VCR and DVD player were recessed into the wall beneath it. Dave was too tired and too dirty to be impressed. He didn't even particularly care what was on the tape, he just wanted a very long, very hot shower.

There were a few seconds of static as Isaac pressed play. An image of house appeared on screen for all of a split second before lines appeared on the screen, the image stuttered, more static appeared, and the VCR ground loudly as it struggled to play through the damaged section of tape. Isaac muttered a curse and fast forwarded through the damaged section, leaving them watching the coup de grace at the end. The screen showed a girl running through a house with walls that appeared to be dripping blood. The image stuttered again, and the things chasing her appeared.

The creatures looked worse than any horror movie monster Dave had ever seen, even worse than the way he looked. There were arms in the wrong places, mouths that were nothing but knife like fangs, and bone spikes protruding from their misshapen limbs like spikes. There were several of them chasing the girl, all unique in their own horrible ways, and as the camera panned around to follow the chase a low chuckle was heard from the person filming. More monsters appeared, trapping the woman in the middle of the hallway, and she turned only to face the pack that had herded her into the house. She screamed as the things tore into her, and the camera lingered on the carnage, even zoomed in as chunks of flesh were torn from the woman. Blood was everywhere…

When it was all over, the screen faded to black. Heaving breathing began, a man's this time, as a skull logo faded in. The word's Death Mask Productions were displayed under it. Dave felt horrified over what he had just seen. Worse, he felt hungry.

Isaac shook his head as he turned off the TV. "It's more disturbing than I was led to believe." He looked to Dave and Grey, who were both standing before his desk covered in zombie bits. "You can understand my concern now, can't you?"

"Why did we need to see that?" Dave asked. "That was sick."

"It just so happens that around the time this snuff film started circulating, the Nosferatu disappeared." Isaac ejected the tape and laid it on his desk. "I tried to elicit their help in tracking down the source, and for the first time in all these years, I was dismayed by their absence."

His eyes flicked to Dave as he said it. Dave, who kept the mask off in Isaac's presence, got the picture.

"How do you usually contact them?" Dave asked. He idly brushed a little muck off on to the marble floor.

Isaac's attention was still on the tape. He turned it over in his hands, but the labels were too worn to read. The way back out of the graveyard had added a few fresh stains as well.

"Usually I just put the word out I'm looking for them, and sooner or later, they appear."

"This tape hides the sewer rats from us?" Grey asked.

"I assume it does; it's awfully coincidental otherwise." Isaac reached under the desk and the oil painting slid back over the TV. "And those creatures, I don't know how many professional FX houses could pull those off. There's a problem though in that the film's incomplete - the first half is damaged. We need a complete copy."

Dave glanced over at Grey, who looked just as tired over the whole mess as he did. No use fighting it. "So how do we find another copy?"

Isaac settled down into his chair before answering. Dave felt a speech coming on. "Behind the spit-shine gloss of the Hollywood dream factory, there's another city churning out a vile by-product for the furtive consumption of a debauched audience. I have no doubt the film's found its way to another smut peddler. I'd ask around."

"Sounds debauched, I mean delightful," Grey said.

"But… You don't know anything else about the Nosferatu?" Dave asked.

Isaac shook his head. "I deal with them when it's necessary. They're beneath my city somewhere, and I had hoped you could tell me what happened to them."

"Sorry," Dave said. "Things have been kinda weird."

"The night is dying," Grey said. "And we should go, lest we pass with it."

The cab was gone from the convenience store parking lot. It wasn't dangerously close to dawn yet, at least not for Dave, but he wasn't sure how much longer Grey was going to last. Their only choice then was to try the cheap motel down the street. Dave was able to conceal how dirty he looked, while Grey looked like he had just walked off the set of a slash film. At least, Dave really hoped that was what it looked like. There were few people out on the streets on the hour, and they weren't the type to think much of a guy walking down the street covered in unidentified gunk. Most of those they passed were a little too drunk or strung out to pay much attention to anything.

The sign over the motel said 'Lucky Star', though the flickering 'L' looked like it was close to going out. A man in a track suit that wasn't even fashionable ten years ago was dozing behind the counter. He jerked away when they entered, then jerked back when he saw the state Grey was in.

"Whoa, hey man, I don't want any-"

"Shut up," Grey said. Surprisingly, the man did just as he asked.

"We just came off the set of a slasher film," Dave said, the lie came surprisingly easy. "Showers in the dressing rooms broke. Total disaster."

The man pointed at him with a shaking hand, showing a gold watch that was a painfully obvious fake. "Then how come you're not-"

"Camera crew," Dave said tersely. "Can we just get a room? It's been a long night, and my friend here's awfully tired. Extra work, y'know? It's hell."

Grey surprised him by slapping down a wad of cash on the table as payment for two nights. He didn't even want to know where he got that. Unfortunately for them the night manager's daze had lifted by the time he picked their room key off the rack.

"Hey…" he said, looking to Grey. Dave knew that look. After living in LA for ten years he knew it painfully well. He knew what came next before the guy even continued. "I've got this script I've been working on. Do you think you could, like, maybe-"

"No," Grey said sharply. Dave noticed their eyes were locked. "Never speak of it again."

"Oh… Okay…" The man said. He looked like he had just been hit between the eyes with a hammer. Dave glanced nervously to the security camera trained on the desk as Grey walked towards the double doors leading out to the rooms.

He smiled nervously, "Like I said, man… long night, and that fake blood and stuff's really sticky. Well… Night."

He hurried after Grey.

The room was all that could be expected out of a cheap Hollywood motel. Dave was just happy there weren't any visible stains on the bedding or cockroaches on the floor. Grey immediately went to work light proofing the room's only window. Dave was surprised to find the tiny window in the bathroom was already boarded up. A yellow note tacked to the boards apologized for the inconvenience and said that it would be fixed as soon as possible. Both the note and the boards looked old.

"Hurray for Hollywood," Dave muttered. He turned back to the door. "Hey, Grey, do you care if I…"

But Grey was already curled up in the closet. The room's only double bed was stripped bare of the sheets, which had been draped over the heavy curtains to make sure absolutely no light leaked in through the windows. Dave still wasn't so sure it would work. He decided to take his chances in the bathroom. He needed a shower anyway, he just hoped he didn't pass out in the middle of it. He shut the door, not that Grey was going to wake up and see anything, and turned to the dingy mirror.

He took a deep breath, exhaled, and let the illusion go. The image of the average guy shown in the mirror warped and ran like melting wax, bringing back unpleasant memories of all those nights spent chained to the bed. Dave forced himself to keep watching. After spending the past night walking around in the open he needed a good reality check. He forced a smile at the mirror, which amazingly did not crack as the gash split to show a mess of jagged teeth.

He pulled off his clothes and showered quickly, getting as much of the grime of as he could. He scrubbed so hard that several boils burst. The blood and pus that leaked from them was washed down the drain along with everything else. It was pointless, he knew, when everyone expected him to keep to the sewers where he belonged. Funny how showering could be an act of defiance, but when he was done he still didn't feel clean. Dave had just enough time to pull his jeans back on, and in doing so he realized he still had his camera, before the sun rose.

When he woke the next night, Dave didn't feel like waiting for Grey. He didn't want to risk waking him either. Using the battered notepad lying beside the bed, he scribbled a note and left it on top of Grey. If he hurried, he might even be able to make it back before Grey woke. Then again, he had no idea how to go about hunting that didn't involve chasing rats through the sewers. Now that he could look like anyone he had more options, but it still meant he would have to rely on his nonexistent charm.

He would just have to fall back on his old habits and find some really drunk chick. His chances weren't good this early at night, but he could think of one way to stack the odds. Returning to the bathroom mirror, he concentrated on the face he needed. He'd taken countless photos of it, so it shouldn't have been hard. What he needed was handsome twenty-something LA scum, what he got was painfully average looking LA scum. He sighed and let the unremarkable face melt away.

"Come on," he whispered. It couldn't be that hard.

He closed his eyes and concentrated hard, resorted to the same childish tactics he started out with. A feeling of light headedness washed over him, and when it was gone he was left feeling hungrier than before. He opened his eyes, and the shock of the image that greeted him made him step back.

It would have taken a lot of plastic surgery to make him look that good back when he was alive, not to mention that painfully white bread Caucasian. He had all the best features of several big stars, but nothing to make him look too much like any particular actor. Maybe he wouldn't have to find a drunk girl, after all.

"This is cheap and disgusting and you know it," he said to his reflection. After a moment of staring down the pretty boy that was definitely not him, he sighed. "Whatever works, I guess."

He stepped out of the motel room, the knowledge his handsome new face was just a flimsy illusion clung to him like a heavy weight.

It helped to stay grounded.


	32. A Night on the Town

**Chapter 32: A Night on the Town**

The soft whispering of strange voices infiltrated Grey's mind before he was fully awake. His own were still absent, all that was left was the cobweb, and lately he felt he wasn't so firmly tangled in it as he used to be.

_Laura?_ A man's voice called desperately. _Laura? Answer me! Please don't leave me…_

But as usual, messages not meant for him were constantly finding his way into his thoughts.

_Is it safe?_ A young girl's voice whispered. _Is it safe yet?_

He wished he knew. He didn't even know what was going on, but every voice on the web still sounded tense. He wasn't so desperate to know that he'd reach out and try and to find the answers. He'd tried that once, when he was young and stupid, and what he founded had burned his brain almost as badly as the embrace had. Since then he listened passively, knowing it was hopeless to try and shut the clan's unseen communication network out. All he could do was try and focus on something else.

Like the mangled corpse that was lying in the closet with him. Its lifeless eyes stared at nothing, the claw marks down its chest glint faintly as blood welled in the savage wounds. Something had clawed the man up very badly, and the look of pain and terror he died with was frozen on his face. Grey scrambled out of the closet on his hands and knees, but by the time he rose to his feet the apparition was gone. All that was in the closet was a blood smear room service hadn't been able to completely scrub away, and a note.

Grey snatched the piece of paper up and found a message for him written in shaky print.

_Grey,_

_Went out to eat. Be back soon. _

_Please wait for me._

_-Dave_

"No fucking way," Grey said.

"Aww, that's sweet." Paul said. "Fledgling's already learning to fly… with no help from you."

Grey spun around to find his other half sitting on the bed with his legs crossed.

"Why won't you leave me alone?!" Grey demanded.

"Hey, at least I waited until you were alone this time," Paul said. "You're welcome, by the way."

"I don't need you," Grey said.

"Of course you do," Paul said, smiling blithely. "Because I'm apart of you. I'm the part of you that actually realizes you're well on you're way to ending up some mindless killing machine. I mean, come on, what's the body count now? Do you even know? Do you even care?"

"Shut up!" Grey turned away and covered his ears, but Paul's voice would not go away.

"Of course you don't care, Grey, because you're already that far gone. And you know damn well that's why you fall asleep early and wake up late. Don't even act like you don't."

"No, it's not that…" There was no conviction in the words.

Paul appeared in front of him. Grey turned away to find him leaning against the wall. There was no escaping his own guilt and self-loathing.

"Yeah, I guess that's what I am." Paul said with a shrug. "But, you know, you're deluding yourself if you think you were ever a saint. Hell, in five years time Dave's probably gonna think he was a handsome bastard in life, too. Everybody forgets who they were over time, and then they start believing they're who they wish they were. Face it man, we were always kind of a dick."

Grey shook his head fiercely. "Why are you telling me this?"

Paul disappeared, but once again his voice lingered. "Because the sooner you accept you were never who you think you were, the easier this will be."

"This what?"

The door opened and a strange man walked in. Grey looked around wildly, but there was nothing close at hand he could use as a weapon.

"Whoa, whoa, easy," the man said. "It's me."

"Dave?" Grey said, astounded. The face he wore was miles above the ones he'd seen previously. He was good looking, he was well dressed, he _looked_ famous. It was particularly weird, given how he knew Dave. That was why the illusion wasn't quite complete. Even with looks like that, that whipped puppy posture was still there. To the right woman, however, that would only make him more attractive. A handsome man who wasn't aware of just how handsome he was, it was genius.

Still, he had to be careful. "Prove it."

"Aw, c'mon," Dave said, gesturing vaguely at his face. "This took a lot of effort, man."

He was getting warmer, but Grey wasn't quite convinced. He folded his arms.

Dave sighed. "Okay, how bout this? Back in '98 you dated this girl, Daisy. She was a diabetic who seemed okay. Well, okay, she was kind of a bitch, but it all came to a head that time you two got into a fight and she locked herself in the bathroom and threatened to eat an entire box of chocolates. When you broke the door down she'd only eaten one, but she was so surprised so swallowed it and started choking. You broke up with her after giving her the Heimlich. You even forced her to take the chocolates with her in case she still wanted to kill herself."

Grey sank down onto the bed.

Dave followed, closing the door behind him. "Grey?"

"I really was an asshole," Grey said, staring at the ceiling.

"What? No! I mean, not all the time… No, wait, shit, what I really mean is everybody has their moments."

"Some more than others."

Dave sat down on the edge of the bed. "Do you at least believe it's me?"

Grey glanced over. "That last part sealed it."

"Um… Thanks?"

Grey ran both hands through his hair. "I need a shower. And new clothes. And a drink."

Dave nodded. "And then there's the tape thing."

Grey stood up and walked towards the bathroom. "There's always something."

The streets of Hollywood were alive with activity so early in the evening, but it was still too soon for the best and the brightest of the stars to be out clubbing. They were far from the best of the best of nightclubs, anyway. There were some things about the seedier side of town that Grey appreciated.

"So you already ate?" Grey asked as they walked. Anything to fill the silence and get his thoughts away from the muttering in his head.

Dave nodded.

"How'd that go?"

"It went okay. She never knew."

"People are going to remember your face, you know," Grey pointed out.

"So I won't use it again," Dave whispered. "And besides… I'm pretty sure I was drunk when I asked that. Before."

"Mmm-hmm," Grey said. He stopped as they came to the door of a club called the Asp Hole. Even though it was early, even though they weren't in the trendiest part of town, there was a line outside the door.

Dave looked up at the sign. "Seriously?"

"Why not?" Grey grinned. "You're one of the beautiful people after all. Come on, let's cut in line."

As they walked inside of the club, Grey remembered that sooner or later he was going to have to go back to Jeanette's place. He owed her, after all. He locked those thoughts away with all the other unpleasantness that would be dealt with at an indeterminate time in the future. He was running out of room.

The Asp Hole wasn't quite as bad as some of the other clubs found in that particular part of Hollywood. Sometimes actual celebrities made appearances there to go off the beaten path, or to go slumming without actually hitting the seedier clubs. Grey had fallen out of touch with who the notable faces were years ago. All he saw were pretty faces and clothes that were, presumably, trendy. There was no one on the dance floor, though a few people clustered around it were vaguely nodding along with the music pulsing through both levels of the club.

The club's name made the kids who tried to get in with fake IDs giggle, but the snake motif continued on the inside as well. Black serpents decorated the walls, ran along the bars, and writhed on the napkins. Grey eyed the walls warily, but the decorative snakes on them remained in place. He allowed himself to relax a little, and set his mind to finding a receptive girl in the crowd.

As his eyes drifted over the heard, Grey noticed a man standing off to one side who stood out. The long, battered trench coat he wore reminded him of the man they'd encountered at Grout's mansion, as did the silver crucifix that rounded off the ensemble. This variant's hair was brown, and pulled back into a ponytail so tight it gave him a perpetually intrigued look. He was scanning the crowd as well.

"Let's go upstairs," Grey said.

The second floor was considerably dimmer by the first. The only illumination was from the spotlights hanging over the booths lining the walls. The space in between was presumably meant for more dancing, but instead it had become the court for a pale and handsome young man who appeared too lost in his own thoughts to pay any mind to the girls swarming around him like adoring locusts.

"Holy shit," Dave gasped, ducking behind Grey. "That's Ash Rivers!"

Grey took a closer look at the face. He knew the name, had even seen the face before in passing. "He's the Baron's childe," he whispered, glancing over his shoulder. "And why are you hiding? You don't look anything like you."

"Oh," Dave looked incredibly embarrassed as he stepped aside. "Right… It's just there was this thing a few years ago where I kinda- wait, Isaac's _childe_? How long has he been… that?"

"A while," Grey said, unable to resist looking at the Toreador whelp's aura. It was a virulent cocktail of fear, anger, and doubt. "Let's leave him to his brooding. I intend to pick off one of the stragglers there."

He indicated a girl standing apart from the crowd, too shy to join the rest of the flock.

"Yeah, well, you do your thing. I'm just gonna wait over here."

"Suit yourself."

Grey ambled over to the girl.

Sometimes it was disgustingly easy, and when it wasn't it didn't take much to push the girl's mind in the right direction. He was lucky that time, and the girl proved remarkably pliable, even when it came to his suggestion that they meet up in the bathroom. Once they were pressed together within a stall in the woman's room it was hard to focus on putting up the pretense of doing anything sexual. Grey managed to go so far as to slide his hands up her skirt before the hunger won out and he got to the point. From the outside, the girl's moans surely sounded like the result of any normal sex act.

Grey might have thought about how much he missed real sex had he been able to think about anything but the blood. In the end it didn't matter, he was cut off just the same by the disturbingly sound of gunshots. He pulled his fangs from the girl's neck and licked the wound as an afterthought before hurrying out of the bathroom.

In all the commotion, no one took notice of him exiting the women's restroom. All attention was on the man screaming and bleeding on the floor. At first it looked like Ash, but on closer inspection he was too healthy looking, and the blood was flowing from the fresh gunshot a little too quickly to be Ash. Grey had had just enough from the girl that the sight didn't excite him nearly as much as it would have. People were running in all directions, but mostly towards both the rear and main exits of the club. Dave was standing not far from the tableau.

"What the hell?" Grey asked. At that same moment, the real Ash appeared at his side- but in different clothes than before.

"Tell you later," Dave said, unable to tear his eyes from the body. "We'd better get out of here."

They all ran for the exit, falling in with the press of people who hadn't quite caught on to the fact the danger had passed.


	33. Questions & Answers

Chapter 33:

**Chapter 33: Questions & Answers**

It was hard explaining why he'd done what he did. All Dave could think about was the hapless look alike who'd gotten caught in the middle of things. He didn't think the hunters Ash spoke of would attack in the middle of the club. He didn't even really think his idea to have Ash switch clothes with a guy who kinda looked like him would work. Grey was furious, at least at first, but fleeing from the scene gave him plenty of time to cool off. Dave could hear sirens in the distance, though it didn't necessarily mean they were going towards the club. They kept to the back alleys, just in case anyone on the street recognized them. It also allowed them to talk freely as they made their way deeper into the bad part of town. While they were in the dark Dave took the opportunity to switch to a less memorable face.

"Let me get this straight," Grey said. By the time Dave finished telling the story Grey's anger had died away completely. Now he just looked grimly amused. "Ash managed to attract the attention of some hunters, who were staking out- heh- his club. You get it in your head to help him escape by having Ash and some guy who looks like Ash to switch clothes. And this _worked_?"

"I know, I know… But you saw what happened." The image kept replaying in Dave's head over and over again. With every step he saw the man's shocked look, the blood soaking his shirt, and no matter how hard he tried he couldn't push it out of his mind. "Do you think the other guy will be okay?"

"Nothing the paramedics can't handle, I'm sure," Grey said, giving him a reassuring pat on the back. Dave still felt wretched, but he knew that was all the consolation he was going to get. "Don't worry about it… We've still got smut peddlers to interrogate."

"Yeah…" He kept his eyes on his feet as he walked, distracting himself with the weird little details like scuffed shoes that had someone worked their way into the illusion. "I guess it's good that I feel bad… I mean, that I can even feel bad about it. Cause if I didn't I'd have to be worried, right?"

"Right," Grey said, his voice sounded odd. "Worried..."

Grey said they should start from the bottom and work their way up. The bottom just happened to be located right next to the zombie infested cemetery they'd visited earlier. Dave had never been in a place like the Sin Bin before, because he'd always had the decency to order his porn online like a normal person. The sign out front boasted that not only did they have something for every kink imaginable, but there was a peep show downstairs as well.

The interior was everything he had imagined in a sex shop. It looked like it had opened some time in the 70's and had simply been allowed to rot since then. The ugly yellow wallpaper was peeling in place and showed signs of water damage in others. The posters on the wall were of porn stars in lingerie, while the really good posters were wrapped in cellophane in a bin near the door. The shelves were packed with porn videos of all kinds, and with a casual glance Dave noticed a few he'd seen before. Grey ignored the merchandise and went straight to the counter, leaving Dave wondering if he even missed being functional.

The man behind the counter looked like he was trapped in the 70's as well. His mustard yellow sport coat complimented the walls, and the pencil thin mustache he sported was almost as sad as his comb over. He smirked as Grey approached.

"Heya, slick," he said. "What can I do for ya?" His bloodshot eyes flicked to Dave, and the smile broadened. "If you're looking for the men's interest stuff, it's over there on aisle three."

"We're not-" Dave began, but Grey cut him off.

"We're not here for that, Mister…" He trailed off, waiting for the man to fill in the blank.

"The name's Flynn," the man said, pulling at the lapels of his coat. "I'm the proprietor of this here establishment. Anything you want, you can get at the Sin Bin. 'Depraved' ain't a four-letter word here, you know what I'm talkin' about?"

"Yes, precisely," Grey said. "We just had some questions."

"Yeah?" Flynn looked mildly disappointed. "What d'ya wanna know?"

Dave, feeling left out again, stepped forward. "You ever hear of Death Mask Productions?"

Flynn's eyes went wide at the name. He uttered a nervous little laugh as he glanced around. He lowered his voice before answering. "Those guys? Yeah… yeah, I've heard of 'em. Why do you want to know?"

"We have a tape they made and we're trying to find out if it's real."

"A tape?" Flynn's eyes practically bulged from their sockets. "You mean _the_ tape?" In his excitement he forgot about keeping his voice down. "You've got a copy of it? Have you seen it?"

"Maybe," Grey said, grinning wryly.

Flynn suddenly looked very nervous. "Look, man, get the hell out of here, alright? I don't want any part of that scene." He made a throwing away gesture that drew Dave's attention to the massive, very fake gold ring on one finger. "I hear people who've seen that tape ain't been comin' home for dinner. I don't deal in that kind of stuff, anyway, so just take it somewhere else." He pointed to the door.

Dave moved a little closer. Grey was still smiling unpleasantly. "Look, Flynn, we just need to find where these guys are, alright?"

"And you did say this place had everything," Grey added.

Flynn shook his head. "Forget it, man. I don't even know what the hell you're talkin' about." He glanced around and, as if he suspected someone of watching, said, "Huh? What? Who are they? Seriously, get the hell out of here.

"Come on now, Mr. Flynn," Grey said, moving right up to the counter. Their eyes met. "Just tell me what you know."

Flynn's eyes went wide again and, for a moment, they seemed to lose focus.

"O-okay." Flynn blinked several times. "Look, all I know is that a guy calls on the pay phone down the street every once in a while. He'll say something like, 'The moon is a terrible mistress' or some creepy shit like that."

Dave glanced to Grey, who smiled back at him as though there was nothing odd about what he'd just done. Dave added that to the very long list of things he would have to ask about later and turned back to Flynn. "Okay, and then what?"

Beads of sweat were forming on Flynn's forehead and under the wispy strands of his comb over. "All you have to say is, 'who walks the night with demons of dread'. Supposedly, you'll be told where to meet the guy to pick up product. I don't know for sure." His eyes darted to the side nervously. "I, uh... I never tried it. It scared the shit out of me."

"Alright," Dave said. "Thanks."

"See?" Grey reached forward to pat Flynn, who cringed away. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

They both turned toward the door.

"Hey, wait!" Flynn called. Dave noticed he was looking at him, not Grey. "Look, you might as well know this. Word on the street is that they didn't even make the video. They're just distributing it. No one even knows where it comes from. I'm telling you, man... whatever you're in, get out of it now."

Dave smiled. "Believe me, I wish I could."

The only payphones they knew of anywhere on the street was several blocks down, at the same Red Spot they'd been dropped at the night before. There were no teenagers loitering out front, and the phones were frustratingly silent as Dave and Grey approached.

"Do you think he was lying?" Dave asked.

Grey shrugged. The light from the fluorescent lamps surrounding the building made his skin look a sickly bluish white. He looked dead, but before Dave could comment on that the phone rang. Grey picked the phone up and listened for a moment. He rolled his eyes as he said, "Who walks the night with demons of dread."

He listened for a moment before hanging up, a bemused look on his face.

"What did they say?"

"That we're to meet two doors down from our room at the Lucky Star."

"No shit?" Once Dave thought about the accommodations he wasn't that surprised. There was probably a meth lab operating next door too, for all he knew.

"So what's with the eye thing?" Dave asked. He was only able to hold out until they were in the courtyard of the Lucky Star.

"What eye thing?" Grey asked.

"You know, the…" Dave was unable to put it into words, so he wiggled his fingers.

"Ah, that…" Grey took the lead as they walked up the stairs. "It's just something I learned a while back."

"And LaCroix did it to you…"

"No, he didn't," Grey said. Dave wished he could see his face. "But still, you should never, ever look another Kindred in the eyes if you can help it. Just in case. Here we are."

The door to the room was slightly ajar. There was nothing special about it, nothing that would indicate snuff film distribution was carried out through there. That was probably the point.

"Is there a secret knock or something?" Dave whispered.

Grey shook his head and nudged the door open.

The room was a bloody mess, literally. Bloody hands prints were everywhere. On the floor, on the walls, even on the ceiling in places. Dave could see legs sticking out from the closet, with yet even more blood staining its jeans and shoes. He didn't need to get closer to know the guy was dead. The blood was still fresh. Dave was immensely glad he'd fed earlier, otherwise it might not have been so easy to push the hunger back. The revulsion was harder to deal with.

"Maybe we should just go," Dave said, his voice strained.

Grey ignored him and slowly walked into the room. Dave followed, though in order to avoid tracking through the blood they had to be very careful about where they walked. As long as he kept his mouth shut it was easy to block out the smell. The sights were another story. Up close, the mangled body was so much hamburger meat. Whatever had attacked the poor bastard had apparently chewed on him a bit before leaving. The trail of bloody hand prints continued to the bathroom, where a breeze was wafting through the smashed window.

"It's just hand prints…" Dave said as the realization hit. "Why is it just handprints?"

Grey was already kneeling over the body. Dave worried he might do something terrible, like take a bite out of the poor man, but instead he dug his hands into the corpse's pockets. He withdrew a leather wallet that was only slightly bloodstained. Dave recoiled.

"That's fucked up," Dave said.

"It's not as though he needs it," Grey said. He rifled through the contents of the wallet and, giving Grey a pointed look, took only one card out. He gingerly put the rest back on the corpse. "I do have some scruples, you know."

"Taking a credit card still technically counts as grave robbing," Dave said.

"It's not a credit card," Grey said, holding it out to him. "It's a key card for that internet café."

"Well, I guess that makes slightly more sense than the operation being run out of a motel room… Can we get out of here? Please? Quickly?"

Grey nodded and very carefully got back to his feet. He grabbed on to Dave's shoulder to steady himself as he picked his way through the handprints. "This is likely only going to get worse, you know."

"Yeah, cheer me up why don't you." Dave took deep gulps of fresh air as soon as they were back outside the room. "Should we report this?"

Grey gave him a withering look, "Are you insane?"

"Right, right, sorry."

"We'll have to hurry," Grey said, heading for the stairs. "We can't stay here another night, so we're either going to have to pray the cab is waiting, or find some other cheap motel to hole up in."

"What about your g- I mean Heather?" Dave asked, hurrying to keep up.

"You know, I'd forgotten all about her…" Grey said. "She'll be fine. You only really have to worry after a month."

"What happens after a month?"

"Then she'll go into withdraw, missing me with all her body and soul… And, after a while, she'll start attacking other people, even Kine, for their blood."

"Jesus."

Grey nodded, bypassing the doors to the lobby in favor of taking the side exit to the parking lot. "A rogue ghoul is a frightening thing. But, provided we don't die, I'll see her again soon enough."

"That's real optimistic of you."

Grey smiled. "I try. "


	34. Small World

**Chapter 34: Small World**

Not even a grizzly murder scene could dampen Grey's spirits. For the first time in years, he felt light, like a great burden had been lifted from him. The feeble whispers on the web were still there, but they were easily ignored. No visions or phantasms had haunted him since… Oh, right, the closet. Well, technically he had seen that coming. Though as he thought about it, the condition of the body that appeared to him before wasn't mangled in quite the same way as the one he and Dave had found. In fact, the wounds were much cleaner than the body he actually been in the same room with. It was perplexing, but ultimately it was no concern of his.

He almost felt alive. Better yet, he almost felt sane.

"Jesus Christ, you go a little while without seeing the walls melt and you think you're cured. It doesn't work like that, pal."

So much for that. Paul's voice brought his mood down instantly. It crashed in a fiery wreck, and not even the long walk to the net café could bring him around. Dave, perhaps sensing this, was unusually quiet. He made no attempt at small talk along the way, and though his illusionary face looked troubled he said nothing. Grey was thankful for that.

"Can't you think about anyone but yourself for two minutes?"

"Can't you leave me the hell alone?!" Grey snapped.

Every time he realized he was talking to himself was like being trapped in a nightmare in which he suddenly realized he was naked. Dave stopped and stared at him, so did a woman who was just passing them on the street. The woman hurried on her way, but Dave was trapped with him. And they were just outside the café.

"Uh, I didn't…"

Grey wanted to scream.

"It's not you," he said, putting his hand on Dave's shoulder. "It's never you, don't worry."

"It's kinda hard not to…" Dave said. He slipped past him and opened the door. At least he didn't ask if he was okay that time. The real answer was always no, anyway. They both knew that.

****

The café was, unfortunately, bustling with activity when they entered. Dave froze, but Grey was in no mood to hold his hand through another bout of Nosferatu xenophobia. He walked purposefully to the back door, the card key clutched in his hand. To anyone watching, he was just another employee going to the back, even if Dave ruined the illusion by nervously tailing after him. Putting up appearances didn't matter much when all the kids in the place were focused on the screen right in front of them. No one was really watching, nor did anyone care as they moved through the door. The room beyond was disappointing normal, but the stairwell leading up held some promise. Grey took the lead.

They were four steps away from the top of the stairs when the door burst open. Literally. Splinters of wood flew everywhere as a monstrosity of flesh and bone hurtled into the stairwell with a howl. All Grey could see where muscular arms lined with bone spurs at the thing leapt for him. And teeth, there were so many teeth… It wasn't until it knocked him back that he realized the creature was nothing but a deformed head with a pair of arms attached. Dave as the only thing that kept him from tumbling down the stairs, but even he couldn't stop the creature from sinking its teeth into his leg. Grey screamed and clawed ineffectively at the monster. He screamed again when Dave pulled it off him, taking a small chunk of his leg with the thing. Pining both of the creatures arms back left the monster wildly gnashing its teeth at nothing. Closing his eyes in preparation for the unpleasantness to come, Dave hurled the creature down the stairs. The brute strength that was a signature of his clan made the simple move fatal. There was a crunch, after which the monster rolled down the stairs, its arms flapping limply against the steps.

"Jesus…" Dave said softly.

"That explains the hand prints," Grey said, examining the damage to his leg. The wound closed easily with a little concentration, though the blood rimmed hole in his jeans marked where it had been. Now feeling positively murderous, Grey continued up the stairs.

Porn sets of all kinds where packed side by side on the upper floor. A satin filled boudoir was right next to a barn yard scene, and it only got worse from there. There were people in the room, or there had been before the monster tore through. It was hard to identify who was cast and who was crew. As mutilated as the bodies were it was hard to discern much of anything about the victims. The smell of fresh blood was thick in the air, and it was all Grey could do to force himself to keep moving through the sets and the mangled corpses. He needed a weapon. While the assorted whips, chains, and branding irons scattered about the sets had some potential, he found exactly what he was looking for in a mundane looking bedroom scene in the middle of the string of sets. He picked up the sledge hammer lying by the bed. The head was stained was blood, as were the sheets on the bed. It wasn't fresh.

"I don't get it," Dave said, looking from the sledgehammer to the bed.

"Did you ever see 'Misery'?"

Dave shook his head.

"Well, that's a fairly accurate reproduction of the set…"

"Sledgehammer and all?"

Grey nodded. He readjusted his grip on the handle before continuing deeper into the studio. It was, in a sense, funny that their path brought them right back to the net café Isaac had sent them to in the first place. If he had just known to check the back door he and Dave would have been spared a lot of grief. It was a definite drawback not having the visions plaguing him at every step. Annoying as they were, they at least gave him some direction, even if it took a while to realize where exactly he was going. He wanted that back.

He wasn't allowed to brood over it for very long. Another creature leapt out from the dungeon cell set. Like the first, it had grossly overdeveloped muscles in its arms, though it at least had a torso. Its legs were merged together into a long and muscular tail that ended in a scythe like protrusion of bone. It hobbled incredibly fast for something that had to propel itself forward on its arms. Its tail lashed wildly at Dave and Grey as soon as the thing was in range. This time Grey was ready for it. He swung the sledgehammer as hard as he could. The force of the blow wasn't as strong as Dave could have managed, but in the end the result was still the same. He caught the creature's tail as it passed just inches from his face, crushing several of its unnaturally shaped bones in the process. It howled and collapsed to the ground. Before it could thing to use its arms to attack, Grey brought the sledgehammer down again, this time on the thing's head. His new clothes were thoroughly ruined with the mess that resulted.

Grey smiled as he wiped the blood from his face. He felt so much better.

He turned to find Dave staring at him with his mouth hanging open.

"Okay, what the fuck is going on here?" He said, pointing at what was left of the monster.

"They're creations of the Tzimisce," Grey said. He nudged the corpse aside with his new favorite weapon so they could continue. "They take humans- and sometimes Kindred- and reshape them into monstrosities like that and the thing in the stairwell."

"Whoa, hold on, back up," Dave said. "What are Tzimisce?"

"They're Kindred, same as you or I," Grey said. As they rounded the corner to what counted as the backstage area, he glanced around nervously. There was nothing. "They just have a knack for sculpting flesh like clay… which is why you only ever find them in the Sabbat. The Camarilla might be able to accept lunatics and ugly bastards, but there's just no dealing with people who turn other people into furniture and guard dogs."

"Have you ever seen one of them?"

Grey tightened his grip on the sledgehammer. "Once. Briefly."

He was amazed to find someone cowering in the corner beside a snack table. The coffee pot and box of donuts seemed frightfully mundane after all the outlandish scenes they passed, but even porn productions had to eat. The man was dressed like a gangland reject, with a bandanna that didn't sport any known gang's colors covering his bald head. He yelped as Dave and Grey approached, but relaxed when he saw they both seemed normal. Grey fought back a smile at the thought of that.

"Oh, Jesus, man..." The man said. "What the- what the fuck is going on up there? D-dead, everyone s-s-slaughtered... oh, oh go- sh-sh-shhh. Do-do-don't make any noise... th'll- they'll hear us."

"Bit late for that," Grey said.

"Who are you?" Dave asked. "Do you work for DMP?"

"Yeah, yeah... I uh mean, uh, n-no. Uh…" The man shook his head violently. "F-fuck it! Yeah, I'm with DMP. You 5-0?"

"Hardly," Grey said.

"What's going on?" Dave asked. "Those things are just like the ones on your tape."

"Yeah, yeah, I-I know, but... we didn't make that shit." The man looked around nervously before continuing. "Uh, one of the guys stole it... f-found it in the creepy house in the hills. We just copied it and put our names on it. Worse than anything we ever did... worst thing I ever saw!"

"What mansion?" Dave asked. "Where is it?"

The man wasn't listening. "Please, please... jus- just get me outta here."

Dave stepped closer, "Look, just tell us where it is and-"

There was a crash from above, a broken vent cover fell between Dave and the man. They all looked up just as another fleshcrafted dropped down from the ceiling, another of the head and arm combination.

"NO!" The man shrieked as the thing fell on top of him. That was the last incoherent word he uttered as the creature wrapped its gangly arms around him and tore out his throat. The shrieking was terrible, almost as terrible as the wet chewing sounds the thing made as it felt. Horrible as it was, Grey noticed the thing was only interested in the blood. The knowledge that thing had once been Kindred only made things worse. He looked to Dave, who looked ill, and shouldered past him. The creature was too busy feeding to notice as Grey raised the sledgehammer…

****

They found another staircase leading down into DMP's production facilities. Glass windows looked in on a huge room with shelved backed full of video tapes containing all sorts of atrocities. There were open boxes stacked on tables in the center of the room. They arrived just in time to see the last remaining DMP crew member dragged kicking and screaming into an air vent. If anything Grey felt relieved that it meant the monsters in the next room would be occupied for a while. The door was locked, but one good kick from Dave took care of that. They moved as quickly and quietly as they could as loud chewing sounds emanated from the vent. The unfortunate man's legs were still dangling from it, and from time to time they twitched feebly as the creature- or creatures- fed. Dave found the tape lying next to one of the opened boxes. He hesitated after picking it up, his eyes on the legs hanging from the vent.

Grey pulled him back before he could do something stupid. There was no saving the man. Even if there was there was, there was no point saving someone who made a career out of peddling snuff films. Justice was served, in its own warped way, and Grey had no desire to hang around any longer.

They found the café was deserted when they returned. Chairs had been overturned in the rush to get out of the place, and stations were left as their users had left them before hastily departing. The noise from the backroom apparently had carried. It was only a matter of time before the authorities showed up.

"This isn't our mess to clean up," Grey said.

They took the back door out. Grey gave Dave a reassuring pat on the back along the way. The bloody hand print that should have left did not register on his illusionary clothes.

****

The journey back to Isaac's was made longer thanks to the need to stay off the main roads. Grey insisted on holding on to the sledgehammer, just in case they met any remaining abominations on the way. Dave didn't argue, perhaps because it was hard to argue with an armed lunatic already covered in blood. Isaac, to his credit, only raised an eyebrow when the two of them walked in.

"Interesting night, I take it?"

Dave put the tape down on his desk in response. Grey was gratified to see the slightest twitch in Isaac's face as the blood on it, still not quite dry, got on the immaculate wood. Using a handkerchief, the Toreador gingerly picked it up and placed it in the waiting VCR.

The quality of the video was much better than the one before, which wasn't necessarily the good thing. It allowed them to see the beginning of the film, which clearly showed the house the victim entered. The suspense was built up gradually, as various angles showed as the girl slowly moved deeper into the house. The first glimpse of one of the monsters was lifted right out of a horror film, but from the moment the girl unwittingly trapped herself in a room full of the things, it went much further than even the worst Italian gore fest. The monsters were real, as was the blood, and the screaming… Grey still couldn't look away. As the screams were replaced by the sound of flesh tearing, the video faded to black and the DMP logo appeared once again.

Silence fell between them as the show ended. Isaac looked thoughtful. Dave, on the other hand, looked ill.

"The house in the tape, I know it," Isaac began to pace as he spoke. His footsteps echoed loudly on the marble floor, providing a backbeat to his words. "It's in the Hills. King's Way, if I'm not mistaken. My guess is that the fiend that made this tape is using these creatures to hound the Nosferatu, which would explain their sudden absence. They're trapped."

Grey and Dave exchanged a grim look. Isaac, his back to them, continued on. "Well, it's unfortunate that the prince needs you to see the Nosferatu, because it looks like this fiend knows how to get at them, and I doubt he's going to draw a map for you." He stopped and ran his fingers along the desk, frowning as the droplets of blood left by the tape would not come up. Finally, he glanced over at them. "Looks like King's Way is your only way in, unfortunately."

"King's Way it is then," Grey said.

"After we get cleaned up," Dave added, pulling Grey toward the door.

Grey had a feeling another set of clothes would be ruined before the night was out.


	35. Crossover

**Chapter 35: Crossover**

"Well, it _looks_ pretty normal." Dave said.

"Appearances…" Grey said. He pointedly looked at Dave as he said it. Dave couldn't help abusing his newfound skill. The face he wore was new, but without putting too much effort into it was just passable. Handsome drew too much attention. Despite the fact he could have imagined himself as anyone, and wearing anything, he fell back to what was familiar to him. He was close to falling into a dangerous trap, and he knew it, but for the time being he just had to worry about getting inside the house.

Grey took the lead, the sledgehammer resting on his shoulder as he walked. The doors on the first floor weren't just locked, they were somehow barricaded from the inside. Tin foil covered every window. The place had to look odd during the day, but thanks to its location in the hills the neighbors were all too far removed to notice. Besides, people who lived in the hills rarely bothered to look out their own windows, he knew that from experience. He'd made a lot of money off that back in the day- back when he had the luxury of days. He was too busy staring at the other houses higher up that he didn't notice Grey raising the sledgehammer until it was almost too late. With a yelp, Dave darted forward and caught the handle, stopping him before he could smash the glass door. Grey glared at him.

"That'll make a lot of noise," Dave whispered. "We're supposed to be stealthy about this. Besides-" he let go of the sledgehammer. "You saw what was on the tape- and what was in the café."

Grey nodded and reluctantly dropped his weapon.

"Let's try upstairs," Dave said.

There were no stairs outside, but there was a vine trellis leading to the second floor balcony. It brought back more old memories from the days just after the ban on telephoto lenses beloved by any self-respecting paparazzi. All the law meant was one had to be sneaky, and extra careful. Just because the residents were too self-absorbed to look out the window didn't mean they wouldn't notice a guy falling out of the tree outside their bedroom. On more than one occasion Dave's attempts at creative photography had ended in fleeing the property with a pack of guard dogs at his heels. He didn't even want to think of what sort of protection this place might have. The windows upstairs were also covered in tinfoil, as was the sliding glass door leading in side. To Dave's surprise, the door slid open easily.

"Holy shit," Dave gasped. Opening his mouth was a mistake. Drawing breath to speak meant breathing in the horrible rancid meat smell that filled the air. The shaky camera work of the snuff film hadn't done the place justice. The walls were papered with flesh. The rusty nails that held the swatches in place were dripping blood. Flies were everywhere, in some places so thick the walls looked black. The hardwood floors were unchanged, though the stuff oozing from the decorations had made them slick.

Dave tread carefully through the mess. No matter where he looked there was more pulsing flesh and dripping blood. He turned back, only to run into Grey, who shut the door behind them without a word. He had a point. There was no turning back until they found out who was responsible for all this. Dave turned around and forced himself to keep moving forward.

The house was eerily quiet, making every squelching footfall and drip from the nails sound thunderously loud as they moved from the bedroom to the hall. The fleshy decorations only got worse as they continued on. A chandelier composed of human arms hung in the center of the hallway. Dave kept his mouth shut as they walked, and though it was wise for Grey to do the same, his silence unnerved him. He'd barely said anything to him since he woke up. He might have suspected their encounter with the monsters the night before, but Grey had seemed pretty blasé about dealing with them at the time. If anything was bugging him, it was probably inside his own head.

The smell of blood, even mingling with the smell of rotting flesh, was getting to Dave. It made it hard to think clearly. It only got worse as they moved downstairs. If not for that, he might have noticed the thing lurking in the kitchen before it attacked. Dave shrieked in surprise as it leapt from behind the counter. He swatted blindly at the thing in a pathetic attempt to defend himself, breaking several of his brittle nails in the process.

All he succeeded in doing was pissing the creature off more. For something that consisted of nothing but a head and two arms, the thing moved surprisingly fast. It jumped at him again, its arms flailing in a wild attempt to slash him with claws that looked a hell of a lot deadlier than his own. Given at least a little warning that time, Dave punched it. His fist landed squarely in the center of the creature's malformed nose. Blood spurted from it as the bone was shattered. Without so much as a whimper, the creature fell backwards. Its arms twitched several times before it fell still. Dave stared at it, trembling fiercely. His arm was numb to the shoulder.

"Nice," Grey said, finally slipping around him. He had the sledgehammer at the ready again. All Dave could do was nod stiffly before stepping over the creature. He recognized the front door from the video, but everything was so much worse in person. If the girl in the video had any sense, she would have run as soon as she saw the walls were bleeding. But then, before his embrace he probably would have thought it was all some kind of fucked up special effects work, too.

They found two more of the monsters lying in the middle of what was intended to be a living room. Both were dead, apparently thanks to wounded inflicted from the other. Dave's eyes lingered more on the blood pooling around them than the corpses themselves.

The doorway leading down to the basement had plastic strips hanging from it that made Dave think of a slaughterhouse. It went well with the rest of the décor. He glanced to Grey, who nodded and took the lead down the stairs.

The basement was empty. The dirt floor made Dave think of all the urban legends of serial killers burying the bodies by the canned preserves, and after what they had seen upstairs he would not be surprised if that's exactly what was lying under the dirt. It made him hesitate to step down.

There were none of the usual things found in a normal mortal basement- no tool boxes, no junk, not even mounds to suggest the place was actually a secret graveyard. There was nothing but an old well at the center of the room and a closed pair of plywood doors on the left wall. There wasn't even a padlock on them. It felt like a trap, but Grey boldly went ahead of him like always. He probably knew better than he did.

Grey went straight for the makeshift doors and threw them open. Dave was still afraid to move from the stairs. All he could see beyond the doors was a rough tunnel sloping downwards into darkness.

"It leads to some kind of a broken pipe," Grey called back to him. "Come look."

Dave stepped forward, expecting a hand to shoot up from the dirt and grab him. There was no hand, but groan he heard from somewhere behind him made him yelp just the same. He spun around, wildly looking around from the source. Instead of zombies shambling towards him, he saw an opening under the stairs that was mostly covered by a blue plastic tarp. It would have been easy to miss if not for the noise he heard. Dave crept forward and slowly pulled back the tarp.

There was another room hidden under the stairs. It looked like someone had converted the home's former workshop into a torture chamber. There was still a tool chest in the corner, and a corkboard and workbench on the far wall, but the four metal tables arranged in a semi circle facing the door definitely weren't the former owner's. The concrete floor was on a slope to allow any spills to run into a rusty drain in the room's center. Trails of dried blood ran from each table to the drain. Dave shuddered to even think of what had happened there.

Only one of the tables was occupied. The man lying on it was held down by four metal straps that stretched across his chest, arms, and legs. He wasn't breathing, which didn't stop him from twitching now and again.

He looked downright normal compared the monstrosities upstairs, but there was still something wrong about him. His sickly gray skin was pulled too tight over his bones, and even with the straps over him his clothes looked a few sizes too big. It seemed as though the man- the Kindred, actually- had been left there to starve for weeks. Dave moved closer for a better look. The man's ears, weirdly enough, had a slight point, and his blonde hair was so long it fell in a filthy curtain over the table's edge. Boils dotted his pallid skin, and as Dave watched another blossomed on the man's face.

"Shit," Dave whispered.

The Kindred opened his eyes. They were a freakishly pale blue that were bloodshot to the iris. There was no fear or revulsion in his eyes, which helped to remind Dave he was still wearing a different face. For the poor bastard's sake he didn't drop it. He had a feeling it would only be a sign of things to come.

"Interesting," Grey said. Dave hadn't heard him come in.

Surprisingly, the Kindred on the table's eyes widened at the sight of Grey.

"Demon," the Kindred rasped, straining against his bonds. "Stay away from me!"

"Whoa, take it easy," Dave said, placing his hand on the Kindred's chest. "We're not gonna hurt you."

The only reason the Kindred stopped struggling was because the muscles in his chest suddenly seized up. Dave could feel them spasm under his fingers. He pressed a little harder in a futile attempt to force the twitching to stop. After a few seconds, the Kindred exhaled a pained sigh and went limp.

His voice was vaguely familiar, but Dave couldn't quite place it. Grey was already across the room and picking through the items scattered across the work bench. Dave kept his eyes on the Kindred. Maybe he was one of he people he'd seen at the theatre the night of the trial. That might make sense. But then how could he know his voice but not his face?

"Hey, Dave," Grey said, picking up a Polaroid from the table. "Take a look at this."

He flicked the picture over. It landed squarely on the bound Kindred's chest. The image showed the face of the man who'd confronted them in the Ocean House, the one they had left in the collapsed suite for his friends to find. The man on the table only bore a vague resemblance to him, but then it looked like he had been starved for weeks. The date on the picture was from several nights ago.

"There's a whole series of these," Grey said. "It spans almost a week."

Dave picked the Polaroid up and joined Grey at the table. There were dozens of pictures, several for each night, and as they moved from one column to the next the man looked a little worse. His skin withered and his hair grew a little bit more with each shot. It looked like his hair had grown out several inches in just a few nights.

Dave couldn't help but reach up to touch his own bald, misshapen head as he looked.

"Not much of a work in progress," Grey said. "You'd think there'd be bones sticking out in odd places by now."

"That's not it," Dave said softly. "I'm pretty sure he's Nosferatu."

The process shown in the pictures, as well as the new boil Dave had seen spring up, made him almost certain the man was the same clan as him. He turned away from the photo spread and moved back to their subject.

"Your name is Michael, right?" he asked.

The confused look the question sparked quickly turned to suspicion.. "Who are you?"

"Um, well…" Dave glanced to Grey, who had moved on to rifling through the drawers. "We've actually already met."

He let the mask drop. Michael's eyes widened, a look of hatred and disgust creeping over his face. Dave didn't let that stop him.

"My name is David Kim," Dave said. "That's Grey. We're vampires, but I guess you already knew that."

"And now you're one too," Grey said gleefully, not looking up from his pilfering. "Welcome to the club, we have jackets."

"Come on, now's not the time to gloat," Dave said.

"You seem to be forgetting he was set on killing us before." Grey picked up something small and rectangular. Dave didn't realize it was a tape recorder until he pushed play.

A woman's cold and clinical voice filled the room. "Changes remain gradual. Signs of adverse monstrousness have yet to emerge." The frustration in her voice was palpable. "I don't understand. I used the same Nosferatu to sire it… Why, then, would this one fail? Dissection may be warranted later."

Grey popped the tape out, replacing it with another from the drawer. A different woman's voice filled the woman, her quiet pleading for mercy broken up by sobs. After a moment, the same voice from before drowned it out.

"The three trial embraces are progressing nicely. All are now barely recognizable as human. The data provided by this is invaluable to understanding this particular breed of Cainite. Once changes halt I will see if this makes them any more malleable than the Caitiff we worked with before. Having discovered the eldest male is their leader, I have decided to save him for last." She chuckled. The sound made Dave's skin crawl. "In the meantime, I think I will let him watch."

Grey turned the tape off. Dave found himself looking over the empty tables.

"This is all my fault," Michael said, his voice barely above a whisper. "I was a fool…"

"What happened?" Dave asked.

Michael blinked once, slowly and deliberately. He would not look at Dave. Instead he stared blankly at the ceiling as he spoke. His voice was hoarse, like he'd been screaming for a long time. That was probably the case.

"Why should I tell you? You could never hope to understand."

"And you could never hope to get out of here unless we came along," Grey said. "Funny how things work." He paused for a moment, as if a thought had just struck him. "It's almost like Fate."

"Fate…" Michael all but spat the word. "There's no such thing. It's all God's will. Everything… Even _this_ is God's will." He clenched his fists, halfheartedly pulling against his bonds again. "I deserve this."

"Nobody deserves this," Dave said.

"I do," Michael said, sounding on the verge of tears.

Dave noticed there was no trace of fangs visible as he spoke. If not for the fact he didn't breathe, he might have mistaken Michael for a normal mortal. Normal mortals, on the other hand, would have mistaken him for a terminal meth addict. People might cross the street to avoid him, but they wouldn't run away screaming.

"Whatever you say, man." Dave looked to Grey, who was still rifling through the tapes. "We have to get out of here.'

"Couldn't agree more," Grey said. He reluctantly put the tape recorder back in its drawer. "Wouldn't want to end up the next research project. Or art project. Whichever."

As Grey crossed the room to retrieve his weapon, Dave set to work at unfastening Michael's restraints. He'd only gotten the first two when Grey stepped forward and held the sledgehammer out to block him. "Don't. He'll slow us down."

"We can't just leave him here!" Dave said, shoving the wooden shaft away. Grey stumbled and nearly fell against the table before regaining his balance. Dave went to work on the restraints again.

"Why do you have to be so goddamned altruistic?"

"Because I'm not as far gone as you are, Grey!"

The click of the next latch sounded incredibly loud in the silence that followed. He shouldn't have said that, especially when Grey was still holding the sledgehammer. Dave could see his knuckles go even paler as his grip tightened on the shaft.

Grey was shaking with rage, but Dave forced himself to keep going. Michael did not move, even after they were all unlocked. Dave looked up, waiting for Grey's next move. If he was going to bash his head in, then… Well, maybe he had asked for it.

Instead Grey's shoulders sagged. His expression was hard to read as he lowered the weapon. Dave thought he saw shame there, but before he could make sense of it Grey walked past him to the door.

"I didn't really mean that…" Dave said, for all the good it would do.

"No, you're right," Grey said. He wouldn't look back. "You're also going to have carry him."

That was the closest thing to a blessing he was going to get.

Dave slid his arms under Michael and picked him up. He was surprisingly light. Then again, Dave still kept underestimating his own strength.

"Leave me," Michael said. Despite his words, he didn't put up much of a struggle. He was too weak for that.

"Look, if we leave you here, they're just gonna turn you into a chair or something when this is all over. I'm pretty sure not even God had that in mind for you."

He carried Michael out into the basement. Grey was waiting for them.

He wasn't the only one waiting.


	36. Obligatory Sewer Exploration

**Chapter 36: Obligatory Sewer Exploration**

The Fiend was waiting for them on the stairs. The crimson robe he wore was at least a few centuries out of date, but that was the most normal aspect of his appearance. There was no telling how wrong things looked under the robe, but what was visible was strange enough. He was nearly seven feet tall, with odd, mottled purple skin that looked like it belonged on some sort of exotic lizard. Bone spines protruded from his head in an arrangement that almost looked like a crown. His bright amber eyes shone with malicious amusement at the sight of the three of them. Grey tightened his grip on the sledgehammer.

"I see you found Anneke's little project," the Fiend said. His accent was hard to place, though it was vaguely Eastern European. That figured. "You are welcome to keep it. She will only grow tired of it within a week or so. Ah, but she is talented, I cannot deny that. You have already seen some of what she did with the rest."

"Who are you?" Grey demanded.

The Fiend smiled. "Ah, forgive me. I am Andrei, and this-" he made a sweeping gesture to the empty basement. "Is my home. Welcome."

Dave glanced at Grey nervously. Michael seemed unable to focus on anything, much less the Fiend, and as long as Dave was holding him there would be no help from either.

"I see the fear in your eyes," Andrei said, still sounding vaguely amused. "But fear not… I have other plans."

"Plans?" Dave said. "What sort of plans?"

Andrei chuckled. "I could strike you both down now and claim your blood-" he only looked at Grey as he said it. "But that would not be sporting. I want to, eh… 'see what you're made of', as they say."

"And then what?" Grey said.

"Then…" Andrei trailed off, the smile on his reptilian face broadening to show rows of sharp teeth. "Then we shall see."

"So it's a game of cat and mouse," Grey said.

"Ah, so gauche," Andrei said. "Call it that if you like, but I'm giving you a fighting chance, which is far more than you deserve after invading my home and destroying so many of our hard-wrought creations. I'm interested to see how you do against those below…" He gestured to the open door and the tunnel beyond.

Grey silently cursed. He had hope to avoid taking that route out. They could have lied and told Isaac the way was already blocked and leave it at that. But with their host blocking the only other way out, they had no choice.

"The sewers are choked with some of my finest work," Andrei said. "Anneke's too, though her own style lacks… _finesse_."

"But why?" Dave said.

Andrei smiled at his naivety. "To gouge out the eyes of the Camarilla, of course. Without the Nosferatu, they will be blind the movements of the Sabbat."

"And you're just going to let us go, knowing that?" Grey said.

"No, I am going to let you experience our power for yourself," Andrei said, all the false mirth melting away. "And should you survive… Well, it is inevitable that our paths will cross again. When they do, you will find I am not so, heh, _merciful_ as I am being now."

"You call this mercy?" Dave snapped.

Andrei smiled at Dave. It did not reach his eyes. "Our creations will offer you a fast and comparatively easy death… So, yes."

Grey found himself wondering if the dead Tzimisce, the same one that had turned his hand into a tentacle, was of any relation to this one… And if Andrei knew about Grey's involvement in his death. Surely not. Besides, Nines had done the deed. All Grey had done was scream.

"Now go," Andrei said. "And should you see Anneke down there… Tell her I am very disappointed in her."

He watched them from the stairs, his arms folded behind his back, as Dave and Grey reluctantly made their way to the broken sewer main. They moved backwards, facing him all the while, but the Fiend made no move to attack. There were odd noises echoing from further down the pipe. Grey recognized them as the heavy, rasping pants of the same monsters they had found in the porn studio.

"He expects us to die down there, you know," Dave whispered. "He _wants_ us to die."

Grey glanced back and saw Andrei was still watching them, his expression now one of supreme patience.

"Lots of people do," Grey muttered.

Their descent into the sewers was made all the more awkward thanks to Dave dragging Michael along after him. The fledgling Nosferatu was nothing but dead weight, a liability that would only make their chances of surviving the gauntlet even slimmer. If they were lucky, Michael could be used to distract the monsters long enough for them to get away… But what then?

Grey found himself glancing back at Dave. He mentally kicked himself.

Dave was right. He was really slipping.

"Slipping?" Paul's voice seemed to echo all around him in the pipe and in his mind. "Ha! You started slipping a long time ago, buddy. Now you're in freefall. It's bad when you have to be _told_ you're an inhuman monster, isn't it?"

Grey grit his teeth and forced himself to continue on in silence. The light at the end of the pipe was getting larger, but the feeling of claustrophobia was only getting worse. He tried to move faster.

"You know what you have to do to stop…" Paul said. "You're going to have to start actually giving damn about other people, for one thing. No more of these empty, bullshit gestures."

"I really don't need a lecture right now," Grey muttered through clenched teeth.

Dave didn't say anything. Perhaps he'd finally learned not to question it when Grey started talking to himself.

"You're right," Paul said. His face suddenly hovered into view at the pipe's end. He smiled unpleasantly. "You need a lot more than that. Time's running out. This has to stop, or we're both fucked- and Dave and his little dog, too."

"You can't control me," Grey hissed.

"Oh, I can," Paul retorted. He moved to the side as Grey crawled out into the sewers. "But I won't. It's time you made the effort on your own."

He disappeared just as Dave crawled out and pulled Michael along with him. The anger Grey felt at the taunting was short lived. They were right- both Paul _and_ Dave were right. He had fallen far in a very short amount of time, and if he didn't do something it would only continue until there was nothing left but the Beast. And what then? He'd be put down like a mad dog, and Dave would be on his own. Pretending to care about the fate of a melancholy Toreador wasn't enough. Some genuine effort was required if he was going to save himself.

So where did he begin?

The first step, naturally, was surviving the damn sewers.

There was barely any time for them to get their bearings before yet another fleshcrafted monstrosity turned the corner. It panted and wheezed as it scrambled towards them on all fours. As it drew closer, its fang filled maw yawning wide in anticipation of tearing into their flesh, Grey saw that it had no legs. The additional arms attached where its legs should be explain the odd way it walked, but after dealing with so many of the things Grey was beyond feeling any shock or revulsion for what the Tzimisce had wrought. As he readied the sledgehammer and waited for the thing to move into range, all he felt was annoyance that there seemed to be no end of these creatures.

The monster leapt, Grey swung, and the blow he dealt to its chest staggered it. The monster fell just short of the water- if that was what it could be called. It was still struggling to push itself up when Grey walked over to finish the job. Its head cracked open like a watermelon, splattering blood and worse all over the bricks- and Grey's new jeans. He muttered a curse.

Michael groaned at the sight of the blood. Of course, it wasn't likely the women who experimented on him had bothered to feed him. That was all they needed, a ravenous fledgling on top of everything. He wanted to smack Dave.

"You're welcome to it if you're that hungry," Grey said as he stepped over the corpse. The desire in Michael's bloodshot eyes was painful to look at. His legs trembled fiercely as he attempted to stand on his own. Any moment and his knees would buckle, allowing him to lap the mess from the bricks. Instead Michael shook his head fiercely and turned away. It would have been far more noble if he hadn't toppled over at the second step. Dave caught him, but Michael refused to let him carry him again. They continued through the tunnels with Dave supporting Michael like a drunk too blitzed to walk.

The silence that fell between them was broken on by the occasional groan of pain from Michael. Grey knew Dave was intimately aware of what the poor bastard was going through. He couldn't even imagine. His own embrace had been painful in a different way, but feeling yourself go insane was far removed from feeling your body slowly twist itself into some grotesque parody of human.

The relative quiet only helped to remind Grey that his mind was disturbingly absent of the cacophony he had grown accustomed to over the years. The cobweb was quiet, with only the occasional whisper to reassure him that he had not yet been cut completely free. It was as if every mind in the network was trying to go unnoticed. Fear vibrated across the strings, and Grey had no idea why.

"So," Grey said. He was unable to keep the note of desperation from his voice. "What were you doing there, anyway?"

Michael looked surprised at the attempt at conversation. So did Dave. Grey didn't care, so long as it filled the silence. He longed for another of the monsters to show up, but the tunnels apparently weren't as clogged as the Fiend had promised.

"I wanted to make up for what happened at the hotel," Michael said. He at least had the sense to keep his voice down. "The others blamed me for what happened to Eddie. It was his own fault, but… They were right, I should have stopped him."

"The others…" Dave said. "They were mages too, right?"

"How could you- Ah!" Michael pressed a hand to his stomach.

"It's complicated," Grey said. Back then, he had known all sorts of things he shouldn't have. Now he was walking blind. "The point is we know."

Michael fell silent for a few paces.

"Paradox," he said at last. "It is God's wrath. One draws it if they pull against Creation too much."

"I don't understand," Grey said.

"I told you before, you could never hope to," Michael said coldly. "Vampire or no, you were still untouched by the divine before you were damned."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Grey said. "I had visions even before."

"Visions?" Dave said. "Seriously?"

"Sometimes," Grey said, realizing he had given away too much. He hadn't even told Dave about them when they were both still alive. What was the point of hiding it now? "I was quiet about it… Didn't want people to think I was crazy."

He smiled bitterly at that.

"It's… It's not unheard of," Michael said, bemusement mixing with the pain. "There are those able to perform wonders without the assistance of… of…" He stumbled. Dave was quick to catch him. "Ugh… Christ! W-why won't it stop?"

"It shouldn't last that much longer," Dave said, still trying to help him along. "I mean, the pictures were taken over several nights, right? And I'm pretty sure it lasts like a week, tops… I think… I'm not sure, I wasn't exactly with it when it happened to me. Hell, you're doing good if you can still walk and talk and think about anything but blood."

Michael uttered a terse laugh. "Only those strong of will can move Creation. This is… This is nothing."

"Then humor me and focus on something else," Grey said. "Why did you go to that house?"

Michael fell silent for so long that Grey began to worry if he was going to answer. Every lapse in the conversation was a painful reminder of how quiet the cobweb had grown. All he could feel was the tension. Countless others were straining to hear but afraid to speak.

"I wanted to redeem myself," Michael said at last.

"How?" Dave said.

"It wasn't just Eddie's death," Michael said. "It was that my faith had failed me… I couldn't turn you away. I couldn't harm you. I was cut off… All because I had begun to doubt my place in God's plan. I had for weeks, but you… You were proof of how far I had fallen from His grace."

"Sorry," Dave said.

Now good and wound up, Michael continued. Grey almost regretted pressing him.

"The house on King's Way seethed with corruption. When I sensed it, I was ecstatic. I thought it was my chance to prove myself again… If I cleansed the place, I would prove my devotion. I convinced the others to come with me, hoping I could show them I was still a good leader in the process."

"But it all went wrong…" Dave said.

"Did you honestly think that would do it?" Grey said. "You kill a few vampires and a heavenly choir descents to say all is forgiven? Please."

"It was a foolish idea, I admit. Michael said, his voice growing strained. "But I was desperate. The others mistook it for zeal. They followed me into the abomination's lair…" He closed his eyes. "There were so many of them. And during the day! It was more than any of us could handle, and in the chaos there was little time to do more than shoot wildly. I was sure we would die, but no… All the commotion woke the ones we sought to destroy. We were trapped. The tall one gave us over to the woman to do with as she pleased…"

"What did she do with the others?" Dave asked.

Michael shook his head. "I don't want to talk about it."

"It might help," Dave said.

"No, it won't…" Michael looked grim. "Nothing will change what happened. I deserve to suffer for what I did… For what I brought upon them…"

"Is that why you went with us?" Dave asked.

"I don't know," Michael said. "I suppose I… I…"

"What?" Dave said.

Michael reached a trembling hand up to his mouth. "Something's nah… righ…" The last words were mangled as his tongue seemed to loll out of his mouth of its own accord. It was clear something _was_ terribly wrong when it writhed and grew out several inches beyond his chin, the color darkening to a bruise purple as spittle dripped from it. Dave, shocked at the sight, let his arm slip.

Michael fell to his knees, futilely trying to push his grossly elongated tongue back into his mouth. Grey grabbed Dave by the shoulder and dragged him backwards just as he reached out. Trying to comfort him now was useless. All they could do was step back and watch, safely out of his line of sight, as the changes unfolded.

Dave looked to him desperately, but he knew better than Grey that there was nothing either of them could do to help.

Grey readjusted his grip on the sledgehammer.

"You can't!" Dave cried.

"Don't be stupid," Grey snapped, keeping his voice low. He peered around the tunnels warily. "He's going to lead them right to us if he starts-"

And, right on cue, Michael started screaming.

"Crap," Dave said quietly.


	37. Change of Heart

**Chapter 37: Change of Heart**

Dave felt helpless. He wanted desperately to go to Michael, to do _something_, but every time he tried to step forward Grey pulled him back.

"Just wait," Grey whispered. He turned away, either because he couldn't watch or he was more concerned about what the noise would bring. Maybe both. Dave wanted to look away, but he couldn't.

There was a terrible grinding sound, loud enough to be heard even in the midst of his screaming, as Michael's lower jaw shifted. His lips split, making his mouth appear to open impossibly wide as row upon row of fangs pressed outward. He clawed at his face, helping nothing as the muscles of his jaw twisted and pulled his mouth closed into a tight pucker, forcing the tiny fangs into tight circular rows surrounding his long, worm-like tongue. His screaming grew muffled, and continued on for several seconds after the changes stopped. The upper half of his face remained more or less human looking, while the lower half had become a nightmare that made even Dave cringe. He was no longer jealous, that was for damn sure.

Finally, Michael collapsed. His lamprey mouth twitched, the fangs retracting slightly as his tongue drew back into his mouth. As impossible as it seemed, it withdrew completely. The fangs relaxed when it was done. He curled into a fetal position on the ground, shivering fiercely as blood tears poured from his eyes. Grey turned back just as it finished.

"Dave?" He spoke quietly, trying to keep it just between them. "That's not normal, is it?"

"I'm pretty sure it's not."

Grey shook his head. The other monsters, for the moment, were forgotten. "Poor bastard."

Dave was impressed. For Grey that was practically an outpouring of sympathy.

Michael got to his feet slowly, his emaciated arms still trembling. He looked from Dave to Grey, who stared back mutely. He tried to speak, only to make a muffled grunt. It made the deformed muscles of his mouth spasm as they attempted to go through the old, familiar motions of speech. Dave wanted to say something, wanted to assure him it wasn't that bad, but it was. Any attempt at comforted would only sound hollow, even coming from him. Michael raised a shaking hand to his mouth.

Even when relaxed, the tiny rows of fangs were exposed. Michael jerked his hand away the instant his fingers made contact. He stared at the tiny droplets of blood welling on them. His mouth twitched again, the rows of fangs tensing and relaxing in another failed attempt to speak.

"Nnnn…" Michael grunted. The simple, muffled noise turned into a high keening, and then a wail as something in him gave way.

Grey jerked Dave backwards, for all the good that would do against a frenzying vampire. Instead of leaping at them, Michael turned and charged down the tunnel. Moments later he disappeared around the corner at its end. A guttural bellow that was definitely not Michael followed.

"We have to help him!" Dave cried. He took off running before Grey could argue. It was a long run to catch up. The horrible noises echoing down the tunnel only made it seem longer.

As he rounded the corner, Dave almost tripped over the fresh corpse lying on the ground. It was another of the monsters. The thing's elongated neck had been broken. Blood dribbled from its mouth as it stared blankly at the mess just a few yards away. Michael had tackled the second creature the ground. It had two many arms attached to its torso, all of which twitched weakly as Michael fed from it. His mouth was fastened tight to the second creature's neck. As he pulled his head back, the flesh surrounding his mouth stretched. It pulsated as he drink, which still wasn't nearly as disturbing as the sucking noises that accompanied each gulp.

"That solves one problem," Grey said. He still had the sledgehammer at the ready.

"Don't you dare hit him," Dave hissed.

"I wasn't planning on it."

Neither of them could watch. Dave kept telling himself it was better this way. At least the creature didn't really count as human anymore. But then what would happen when they made it out? If they made it out. He tried not to think too much about it, but even when he closed his eyes there was that horrible, wet sucking noise. When that stopped, he opened his eyes.

Michael's teeth had made a bloody mess of its neck. Instead of two discreet points, there were many circular puncture marks. The flesh in the center was red and irritated, making it look like the mother of all hickeys. Disturbing as the sight was, Dave almost laughed at the thought. Hysterics, that's what it was.

Finally coming to his senses, Michael pushed the corpse away and staggered to his feet. His long hair fell in his face as he rose, hiding everything but his nose and deformed mouth. He brushed it out of his eyes and stared down at the dead thing lying at his feet, particularly at what he had done to its neck. His eyes widened in shock as the knowledge he was responsible sunk in. Shame was the only thing that drove him to run that time.

"Stop!" Dave cried.

Michael took turns at random, and there was no time to wonder if they were going the right way as Dave and Grey followed. The chase ended when the tunnels dead ended at a locked door. Michael sank to his knees in front of it, fresh tears running down his face. His blood stained teeth tensed and clicked as he sobbed. Dave approached slowly, trying not to upset him, while Grey turned and warily eyed the way they had come from.

"Michael…" Dave said softly. He got no response. Michael didn't even look up. "It's okay. I mean, that happens to everybody sooner or later…"

Michael glared at him. Of course, not everyone ended up with a mouth like his.

"At least it's over now," Dave offered.

Michael grunted, obviously not taking much comfort in that.

"We're going to have to find a place to hole up for the day," Grey said.

"But we've still got time."

"You want to fall asleep in the middle of the tunnels with a bunch of those things running around?"

"Um… Good point." Dave turned back to the door. The knob was smeared with blood from where Michael had tried and failed to open it. Once again he wished he remembered where he put his lock picks, but Michael surprised him by pulling out a set of his own from his back pocket. Even with trembling hands, he picked the lock faster than Dave ever could have managed.

"Odd skill for such a pious man to have," Grey said.

Michael pushed the door open with a bit too much force, nearly tearing it off the hinges. Without a word, as if he could even manage words, he stepped inside.

There was a tiny office beyond the door, as well as a staircase leading to another door that was locked from the inside. Dave unlocked the door and opened it just enough to see what was on the other side. More tunnels, even more poorly lit than the ones they had just left. He sighed and closed the door. When he came back down the stairs, Grey was already pushing the ancient metal desk in front of the door.

"There's nothing to barricade the other one with," Dave said.

"Then I guess we'll just have to hope for the best." Grey said. "Or maybe pray…" He abruptly looked to an empty space just to his left and, looking inexplicably chastised, he lowered his head.

"I'm sorry," Grey said. "I didn't mean that."

Michael ignored the comment at sat down in the corner. Dave picked up the book that had been knocked off when Grey moved the desk and found it was covered in dust. He paged through it until he found the last entry, dated in 1958. It was apparently a maintenance worker's logs, and the shaky pencil writing spoke of a tunnel collapse killing several of the men. Working his way backwards through the entries, Dave found mention of workers disappearing, of men feeling they were being watched while they tried to take readings. The last entry mentioned a very large section of the sewers being sealed. As he closed the book and laid it aside, Dave wondered where that was.

"Well, we've got time to kill, right?" Grey said. Dave was surprised by how nervous he sounded. Maybe it had something to do with the fact the office they were stuck in was too small for the three of them. "What do you wanna do?"

Dave shrugged. "I'm not exactly in the mood for games."

"That's fine, that's fine," Grey said. "We could just talk. Talking's good."

"Are you alright?"

Grey laughed. "You know, I've lost track of how many times you've asked me that."

"It's a valid question," Dave said. "I mean, I don't know what counts as normal for you, but it seems like you've been acting weird lately. Like, first you start talking normal, even if you keep talking to yourself. And now every time it gets quiet you get antsy."

"Antsy?" Grey laughed. "Hardly. I'm just… bored."

"If you say so," Dave said. He sat down on the desk, while Grey took a seat on the bottom step. Dawn couldn't come soon enough. Unfortunately Dave didn't feel the least bit tired and Grey wasn't showing any signs of slowing down either.

Silence returned. Michael sat rocking in his corner, his legs pulled to his chest. Dave watched from his place on top of the desk, feeling helpless to stop whatever breakdown he was experiencing. Grey sat on the stairs, his fingers trailing anxiously through the dirt collected on them.

Dave had never seen him look so nervous, but maybe the weirdness of the past few nights was catching up to him. But then, if anyone should be cracking under pressure, it should be him. He hadn't had years to deal with the every freaky little burden of his existence like Grey had. Then again, he wasn't inherently crazy like Grey was. At least, not yet.

Dave laid his head back against the door. All he could hear though it was the distant hum of machinery.

"Things are changing," Grey said.

Dave looked up. "What do you mean?"

Grey ran his fingers through his hair. "I don't know. Nothing's the same anymore. I don't see things like I used to… or hear them. I just… I don't know what's happening."

"Is that bad?" Dave asked. He glanced over at Michael, who was watching the conversation like a tennis match. "I mean, if you're not as crazy as you were before, that's gotta be a plus."

"It's not _right_, Dave," Grey snapped. "Clan weaknesses like this have existed for thousands of years! They're ingrained in the blood! You don't just get better! It would mean… It would mean…"

"What?"

Grey shook his head. "No, nevermind, I don't want to talk about it."

"You're the one that brought it up," Dave pointed out.

"Because I'm _afraid_, Dave," Grey snapped, his raised voice echoed through the tiny office. "You're too new to understand just how wrong this feels, but I had to tell someone…"

Dave had a weird feeling of déjà vu at those words. Michael, meanwhile, snorted with what might have been laughter.

"Shut the fuck up," Grey hissed. "You don't even have a clue, you goddamn leech!"

Michael bristled at the insult. Dave tensed, afraid he might have to get between them. The moment passed. Michael's shoulders sagged. With one last baleful look at Grey, he buried his face in his arms.

Dave waited until the tension drained out of Grey before speaking. "Maybe it's better if you don't worry about it. I mean, it's not like we can do anything, right? Whatever it means."

"Right…" Grey said.

Dave was relieved when Grey rested his head on his knees and closed his eyes. Sure, there was a lot of stuff he wanted to ask, but he didn't feel right talking about it in front of Michael. It didn't look like the two of them were going to get along well. Dave wasn't even that sure about his own chances with the guy.

Michael's position almost mirrored Grey's, though he hand folded his arms over his knees to hide the lower half of his face. With his mouth hidden, Dave was struck by how freakishly normal Michael looked. If he could just keep it covered he could walk down the street without much fuss. But who wore scarves or anything like that in California? And why the hell had his hair grown out instead of fallen out? Dave realized he and Michael were staring at each other. He had no idea what could be going through the other man's mind. Maybe he was similarly jealous that Dave could at least talk, or maybe he was contemplating killing him. Who knew?

"Um…" Dave struggled to find an acceptable conversation topic. "It's really not that bad, once you get used to it… This whole, um, existence, I mean."

Dave could only assume the grunt Michael made was an expression of skepticism. He couldn't blame him.

"I'm sorry things ended up like this," Dave said. "Even after what happened. Hell, if our positions were reversed I probably would have tried to kill me, too. I mean, geez, look at me."

He tried to laugh, but it quickly turned into a sigh. "Nah, honestly, I'd probably run. I never was much for the whole honorable, stand and fight thing. Like, I took classes, cause when I was a kid I had these delusions of being like Bruce Lee but… Yeah, that never really worked out."

Michael's expression, at least as much as Dave could see in his eyes, was impassive..

"I'm probably even better off this way, cause it wasn't like my life was going anywhere… I turn thirty in a few weeks. Fuck, I didn't even think about that." He knew he was babbling, but he couldn't stop. "Who knows? Maybe I could have turned things around. I could've found the right woman, started a family…"

Michael's expression darkened.

"Oh… Oh geez, you didn't have a family, did you? Like, a wife and kids?"

Michael nodded slowly, his eyes were welling with tears again.

"Fuck- I mean that's great! I mean… Oh god, I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have brought this up. I just… I'll shut up now."

Michael shook his head and wiped his eyes. He paused when he saw the blood streaked on his hands. His tongue darted out, snake like, and licked it away. Dave couldn't stop himself from recoiling. Michael saw. His brow furrowed, but all the lower half of his face could manage was a spasm that made his teeth click together.

"No, no, it's cool," Dave said quickly.

He wished the sun would rise. Better yet, he wished the ground would open up and swallow him. Why did Grey have to fall asleep so damn early? Awkward conversation with him was a hell of a lot better than awkward, one sided conversation with Michael. Dave laid his head back again and stared at the crack in the ceiling.

"I'm sorry," Dave said. "I'm not good with words."

Michael grunted something that sounded vaguely reassuring in tone. Dave couldn't be sure. He was probably reading too much into it.

"Anyway, I'm sure your family's okay… without you… uh… I mean…" A sudden feeling of lethargy swept over him. "Oh thank god."

He'd never been so happy for sunrise.

****

When he woke up, Michael was sitting beside him on the desk. Dave shrieked and nearly fell off as he jerked away from him. The exasperated sigh Michael uttered whistled through his teeth. It took Dave a moment to calm down, and to see that Michael's position wasn't the least bit threatening. He was sitting with both hands resting on the knees. Still, Dave couldn't stop himself from looking across the room. Grey was in the same uncomfortable looking position he'd assumed the night before, and he was apparently unharmed.

"How long have you been up?" Dave asked.

Michael shrugged and looked down at the watch that was still hanging loosely on his wrist. He pointed to where the minute hand was currently resting, and then to where it would have been fifteen minutes ago.

"Oh, hell," Dave said softly. He looked desperately back to Grey, who was still essentially dead.

Michael remained perfectly still.

"So… You could have done a lot in all that time, right?"

Michael nodded.

"But you didn't."

Michael shook his head.

"Why?"

Michael shrugged.

"Thanks, I guess... So does that mean you're sticking with us? And that you're not going to, y'know, try and kill us again?"

Michael gave him a withering look.

"Is that a yes? I mean, on the not killing us part. Well, both parts."

Michael grumbled and nodded.

"Okay, cool."

He still wished Grey would wake up already.


	38. Getting There

**Chapter 38: Getting There**

"Tonight is the first night of the rest of your… Let's say miserable existence."

Paul was getting to be a bigger annoyance by the night. Grey ignored him and rose from the stairs. He hadn't chosen the best position to sleep on, but as soon as he was on his feet the stiffness began to leave his limbs. As he rubbed the back of his neck, he couldn't help but notice that Dave and the zealot were sitting side by side on the desk.

"So then he told us to go to Hollywood and… uh…" Dave trailed off when he noticed he was up. He quickly finished with, "One thing led to another and here we are."

"Isn't that cute?" Paul said. "They're bonding. And in the traditional sense, too. As opposed to, say, frenzying and accidentally drinking the blood of your own supposed friend. Ah, but if not for that who's to say what you would have done to him by now?"

"Shut up," Grey hissed.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up," Paul echoed. "I told you, you're not getting rid of me. Wanna know why?"

Grey said nothing. Dave and Michael were both staring.

"Because…" Paul moved closer, getting right in Grey's face. "The truth is- and, come on, how many times do I have to go over this? I'm all your self-loathing, and your regret, and your fear. You've known that from the first time I showed up. I'm all the thoughts you kept pushing down, and pushing down, because you were too chicken shit to even think about what's become of you- and what's coming. But you know how it goes… the pressure just builds and builds, until finally it springs back and smacks you in your stupid, pallid face."

Grey closed his eyes.

"The real question is how many times do I have to smack you before you really listen to what I have to say? Huh, _Paul_, how many?"

"Don't call me that!" Grey shrieked.

"You're pathetic." Paul hissed. "Fine, keep running. I'll be waiting when you hit the wall."

Grey opened his eyes. Paul was gone. Dave looked very worried. Michael's expression was harder to read, for obvious reasons.

"I, uh, explained about the Malkavian thing," Dave said.

"Oh, good," Grey said. His voice shook badly. The sledgehammer felt heavier than before when he picked it up. "Now that we're all aware I'm out of my fucking mind, can we go?"

"Okay…"

With Michael's help, as unnecessary as that might have been, Dave shifted the desk away from the door.

As they stepped out in the sewers, Grey thought of how he would have given anything to be anywhere else at that moment. He could be alone at home… But Heather would be waiting for him, and Dave would surely follow him, and now Michael apparently was along for the ride, so there was no hope of having a moment to himself even with his other half gone. He could still pick up nothing from the cobweb other than a general feeling of ill ease.

As he stalked through the tunnels with no idea of where he was going, Grey seethed with anger. What was he supposed to do? Why did everyone act like it was supposed to be perfectly clear? And how the hell was he expected to save himself from… Well, himself? Without thinking, he brought the sledgehammer down on the flesh crafted monster that emerged from a pipe just ahead. He no longer paid any mind to where they were going, or even the monsters that threatened them. He just wanted out.

He was vaguely aware of Dave and Michael following at a safe distance, but Dave wisely kept his mouth shut. Every new monstrosity that popped up was nothing but an annoyance now. The sewers were just some very large and convoluted game of Whack-a-Mole, and there would be no prize in the end. Finding the Nosferatu didn't even count.

He had no idea how much time has passed, or how many creatures they had killed, before they stumbled upon a large reservoir. They skirted the edge of the pool, only to find the recessed ledge by the emergency release valve was in the water. Grey hopped down without hesitation and waded over.

"Are you sure about this?" Dave said. Nevertheless he followed, with Michael trailing behind.

"It's not as though we can drown," Grey said. He turned the valve. A red light on the console beside it began to flash in time with the alarm that sounded throughout the chamber. There was no fighting the current as the water was sucked down, pulling all three of them with it. Despite what he said before, a half-dead instinct made Grey suck in a breath right before he went under. That same instinct made him feel a moment of panic once it was exhaled, but the moment passed. He swam toward the only passage available to them.

It was difficult to see what lie beyond. A faint light danced in the water ahead, but as Grey tried to pause to gauge what it was he realized they were being pulled forward by a strengthening current. A strange mechanical noise, distorted by the water, was also growing louder as they were pulled closer. It wasn't until they were right beneath the source of the light, when Grey was finally able to surface, that he saw what the reason was.

Giant wheels turned up ahead, their rusty blades churning through the water. Any large debris caught by them would surely be chewed up. But then, that was the point. The current created by the wheels was too strong to fight against. Nevertheless, Grey tried. As he turned away from the blades, he saw an ancient metal ladder descending up to the narrow concrete platform flanking the trough they had been forced into.

He grabbed hold of the first rung, and with his free hand he grabbed the first of the Nosferatu to drift past him. He was surprised to drag Dave's new pet first. Michael in turn grabbed Dave. A part of Grey wished he could have taken hold of Dave and left Michael to the meat grinder, but that was the same part he was trying to work on.

One by one they climbed on to the platform. Once they were on what more or less counted as land, Grey coughed up the water that had worked its way into his lungs during the unplanned dive. Michael and Dave did the same. The noise was terrible. He was careful not to look at either until the fit passed.

"What now?" Dave asked.

Grey ran his fingers through his dripping hair, pulling it back out of his eyes. The water hadn't exactly been clean, but it had at least washed most of the blood from his clothes.

"Well…" He said, stopping abruptly as he heard scratching noises echoing from just behind them. He looked over his shoulder to see another abomination awkwardly claw its way out of a concrete tube that opened on the same platform. It stumbled as it broke free, hissing angrily as it fell just short of its prey.

Grey reached down for the sledgehammer, only to realize he'd dropped it somewhere back in the tank. Cursing, he looked around wildly for anything else he could use. There were rusty metal drums stacked in the corner. There was no chance of reaching them before the thing attacked, and in the same moment that sad fact registered it lashed out. Grey raised his arm to deflect the blow, only to have sharp claws rake across his skin. Crying out in pain, Grey shoved the creature with his other arm, hitting it squarely in the face. Given it was nothing more than a head and two misshapen arms, that was enough to knock it off balance. Grey took the opportunity to push himself backwards.

When the monster lunged again, Dave caught it by the arm and flung it into the water. The thing's howl of rage turned to a gurgle as it went under. Its deformed arms were unable to do more than flail uselessly against the current. There was a horrible grinding noise as it was caught in the wheels. Blood oozed into the water as it was dragged down, one arm flapping against the same metal tooth that had caught it. The wheel shuddered and stopped, drawing Grey's attention up to another tube just above it.

"Come on!" He said, scrambling to his feet.

They moved quickly up the rusty spokes of the wheel, knowing it was only a matter of time before the pressure popped the creature's skull. The tunnel above opened on what looked like a treatment facility. All around them were massive tanks of water, some raised, some sunken into the cracked concrete. More tubes dotted the walls, perhaps meant to direct any runoff if the tanks leaked or overflowed.

Now they only helped to funnel more creatures into the massive room.

"Um…" Dave said.

Creatures of all shapes and sizes were clawing their way out of the pipes with varying degrees of success.

"Run!" Grey shouted.

He had no idea where they were going, or where they could go, but as long as it was away from the things it was an improvement. The sounds of the pack's frenzied screeching echoed throughout the room, making it seem as if they were already surrounded. Grey kept moving, finding the way ahead of them was still clear even if the sound of many hands and feet stampeding after them was only getting louder. He found some hope in a metal door at the top of a staircase at the far side of the room. He didn't have time to be relieved that it opened easily once they reached the top. Dave and Michael pushed through with such force that he was on to the metal catwalk that extended beyond. Michael surprised him by dragging him to his feet.

"We've gotta block the door!" Dave said.

"With what?!" Grey cried.

There was nothing of use on the catwalk, which stretched across another massive water tank. Water poured into it from either sides, drowning out the sounds of the things that were no doubt still clambering after them. Grey turned the lock on the door, knowing it wouldn't help much. There was no choice but to keep running. Light poured from the ceiling, casting odd shadows from the fans they were positioned above. There was another door up ahead, another chance of leaving the whole damned place behind, but as they reached the center of the catwalk there was a loud clang as one of the supports gave way. The entire structure shuddered and groaned.

"You've gotta be fucking kidding me," Grey said.

"Just run!" Dave cried.

The catwalk shook fiercely as the three of them pressed forward. There was another clang as another support gave way. The rest of the catwalk fell with it just as they reached the edge. Grey grabbed Michael by the collar of his ill fitting shirt and yanked him forward before he could fall with it. They stood at the edge over what had suddenly became an impassable abyss.

"Well, that takes care of that," Dave said, sounding shaken. He uttered a nervous laugh.

Before Grey could ask, Michael was at the door. After a bit of rummaging through his damp pockets he found the lock picks. He stepped back once he had it open, allowing them to go first. Grey took the lead.

The room beyond was massive and looked as though it been closed off for decades. Countless derelict machines sat quietly rusting against the walls. Old metal drums were piled in the corners, to the edge of a wide gap that water poured into from a pipe set high in the far wall. Steel beams lay propped against the brick support beams that stretched from the dirt floor to the crumbling brick ceiling high above. Metal stairs led to another catwalk that stretched across the center of the room, with more old machinery sitting on the platforms it connected.

The bodies strewn about the room were obviously more recent additions to the mess.

A dark haired woman stood on the center of the catwalk. The paleness of her skin made even Grey look healthy by comparison. It only helped to make her dark eyes look black, much like a shark's. Her smile was equally unpleasant.

"There you are," she said. She was addressing Michael, not them. Grey glanced to the side to see Michael was trembling with rage. The look in his bloodshot eyes showed the Beast was no far from the surface.

"Well, I suppose the mouth is an improvement," the woman said, tapping her own perfectly sculpted lips. She was beautiful, Grey couldn't deny that, but there was something fundamentality wrong with her beauty. She was like a statue, some lifeless thing carved into something that still didn't quite look natural. The black dress she wore only drew more attention to just how pale she was, but it was probably meant to hide any splatters of blood on the fabric.

"You're Anneke, right?" Dave said. He was almost making a convincing show of bravery. "Your, um, friend mentioned you."

"Andrei…" She sighed. "He's so… single-minded. Typical old world mentality. I, on the other hand, have at least _some_ appreciation for craftsmanship. Ah, and the mysteries of the lesser blood, of course. It astounds me that so few have bothered to study just how the human formed is warped by such, and in ways I myself could only imagine. I certainly wouldn't have thought of _that_…"

She was staring at Michael's deformed mouth as she said it. He was making an odd growling noise that reminded Grey of alley cats fighting. He took another step to the side and dragged Dave along with him. The gap between them and Michael still wasn't wide enough for comfort.

"Would you like to see your friends?" Anneke asked, her eyes still boring into Michael. "I'm sure they'll be delighted to see you."

She put to fingers in her mouth and whistled.

Grey's mouth sagged open at the sight of the thing that lumbered from the shadows. It was so tall its head nearly brushed the underside of the catwalk, but that was only because its legs were made of the torsos of other vaguely humanoid creatures. The palms of each 'leg' slapped wetly on the muddy floor with every step. Grey could see little of their faces, and he was glad. What they supported was bad enough. The creature at the center was once female, that much was clear by the naked breasts that hung loosely from its chest. Filthy brown hair hung limply around a face that was as grotesque as one could expect from any Nosferatu. The flayed stomach hanging open could only be the work of the Tzimisce.

"I didn't get to finish," Anneke sighed, noting that Grey was staring at it. "If not for Andrei, I wouldn't have had to use scraps for the other leg. Ah… But I could always swap you out for it later, of course. Then you'll all be together again."

Blood tears were streaming down Michael's face. Grey was amazed he hadn't snapped yet.

"As for you two…" Anneke said, finally directing her attention to Dave and Grey. "Well, I'm sure I'll think of something."

She barked something at the monstrosity in a language Grey couldn't recognize. At her command, the creature shrieked and charged for them.


	39. Obstacles

**Chapter 39: Obstacles**

Nothing that had the upper halves of three bodies supporting it should have been able to move that fast. Dave dove out of the way as the creature charged, narrowly avoiding getting trampled. He felt Grey land somewhere just behind him.

As he pushed himself back up, Dave reminded himself he should have stopped trying to make sense of things ever since they set foot in the house with all the flesh on the walls.

He looked over his shoulder to see that Michael had not moved. The creature had stopped just short of him, and with one grotesquely elongated arm it plucked him up and held him several feet above the ground. Dave could see the distorted tendons move as it tightened its grip around his throat, its fingers crushing a windpipe he really didn't need anyway. Still, Michael struggled and clawed at it, desperately trying to get free. A strange look passed over the creature's face. Something like recognition showed in its cloudy eyes. Maybe it remembered him. Maybe there was something of Michael's friend left there.

The creature howled and tossed Michael across the room before turning to face Dave and Grey.

Maybe he was wrong.

"You know what would be great right now?" Dave said.

"A sledgehammer?" Grey asked.

"I was thinking more like a rocket launcher, but yeah."

"So improvise!"

They turned and ran in opposite directions as Anneke's pet monster lunged. It shrieked angrily as its gnarled fingers closed on thin air. Dave kept running, skirting the edge of the pit. The gap was too narrow to trick the creature into, but the steel beams lying discarded nearby gave Dave an idea. The beam seemed amazingly light when he picked it up. One night he was going to have to get used to the idea of unholy vampire strength. Grinning to himself, Dave turned just in time to get caught by the creature as it took a wild swing at him. He hadn't heard it approach over the sound of the water pouring from the drain overhead. The beam clattered to the ground as he was thrown into the air. He landed squarely in the middle of the catwalk.

Anneke was gone. Of course.

While Dave lay sprawled on the metal grating he saw the creature double back after Grey. He pushed himself up slowly, waiting to feel the protest from any broken bones. Luckily there were none. He looked back to the pit just in time to see the same beam he'd just picked up slip over the edge. There were still plenty of others he could use, but he still cursed himself for being so careless. Grey, meanwhile, was leading the creature around the room like a bull fighter, baiting it and diving for cover every time it rushed him. Something that technically had four heads probably should have been smarter than that. The throbbing pain Dave suffered from the fall was fading quickly. Even from the catwalk he couldn't see where Michael was. Calling out was definitely a bad idea, but as he quickly found out standing up there wasn't exactly a smart idea either. Frustrated with chasing Grey, the creature had turned its attention back to Dave. It picked up the nearest thing at hand and chucked it him.

The nearest thing at hand was apparently one of the bodies. Dave jumped from the catwalk just as it flew over. The body landed several feet behind him. The creature's attention, meanwhile, was still on him. Dave ran back for the pillar and picked up another of the beams.

"Okay…" he said, staring down the monster. "Let's try this again."

Maybe the thing was still capable of learning after all. Instead of rushing him, it loped forward and stopped just out of range of the beam. Not sure exactly how to wield the thing as a weapon, Dave feinted awkwardly with it. Both time he swung it the creature ducked away. Dave pressed forward. It scuttled back, the hands of the rear torso splaying out against the dirt. The creature hissed and tried to swat at him again. Dave met it with the beam.

"Quit fucking around, Dave!" Grey cried, now safely across the room.

"What the hell am I supposed to do?" he yelled back. The beam shuddered as he parried another attempted blow from the creature. Dave stumbled backwards, nearly losing his balance. The creature took the opportunity to try and charge forward. Dave yelped and brought the beam around. There was a wet sound as the metal went through the creature's open stomach cavity. Dave turned his head away as the momentum it had flung itself forward with instead impaled it on the beam.

The fingers of each of its torso legs dug into the ground as the creature shrieked and writhed in pain. Dave was forced to wrap both arms around the beam to keep a hold of it. Blood and worse oozed down the metal as the creature thrashed, nearly lifting Dave off his feet as it staggered backwards. It reached out to grab him, but its position on the beam made its hand fall just short of his face. It howled in raged and kept reaching for him, like an idiot child desperate to grab a toy.

He saw Grey run up behind the creature with a length of pipe. Compared to the steel beams, it might as well have been a twig, but it was something. After a moment of trying to figure out where to hit, he swung at one of the supports. Dave heard a snap as the pipe connected. The head of that leg screamed in silent pain as its broken arm went out from under it. The creature echoed it as it fell heavily to one side. Dave was forced to let go of the beam. It was still impaled deeply in the creatures stomach. Grey took the opportunity to slip around and cripple one of the other supports. The creature barely seemed to notice, it was too busy trying to pull at the beam, which proved too slick with viscera for it to get a firm grip on. It mewled in frustration and fell to pounding on the metal.

Michael suddenly appeared on the creature's back. Dave hadn't seen him leap for it. Hell, he'd never even seen Michael sneak up to begin with, but once he had his legs wrapped around the main body of the thing it was as though he'd been in plain view all along. Whether he realized it or not, Michael had slipped out of sight until the moment he sprung to attack. Dave felt stupid for not thinking of the same.

The creature howled and tried to buck Michael off, but with two of its supports gone it was unable to keep its balance. It sagged to one side, the steel beam the only thing keeping it from toppling over completely.

Michael wrapped his arms around the creature's neck, his fingers digging into the side of its head. The creature shrieked again, reaching up to try and claw at his face, but he already had the advantage. His expression, at least what Dave could see in his eyes, was grim.

All it took was one good twist. The creature's head wrenched to one side. The crack that followed was a lot louder than the one Grey had managed. Dave winced. When Michael let go the thing's head lolled too far over on its shoulder. Its body sagged limply downwards, taking Michael down with it as it collapsed. The three torsos that made its legs each twitched and fell still. There hadn't been anything in their eyes even before the head had died. Michael stepped forward. He managed to take three steps away from the body before he sank to his knees. Dave moved toward him, but Grey fervently shook his head. He stepped back, treading a wide circle around Michael to join Grey near the center of the room.

"There's no other way out," Grey whispered. "The Fiend must have blocked the door after she went through. I tried."

"What do we do?" Dave asked.

Grey glanced back at Michael, who was kneeling on the ground with his head in his hands.

"First we give him a few moments. Then… I don't know. We'll figure something out."

An awkward silence followed.

"Are you okay?" Grey asked, still keeping his voice down.

"I guess… You?"

Grey shrugged. They both looked back at Michael, knowing there was nothing either of them could say to make things any easier. Grey stepped forward and, without a word, gestured he follow. Dave joined him, stopping a respectable distance away from Michael. Another tense minute limped by, until Michael looked up. He made the sign of the cross before he rose and, with all the dignity he could muster, wiped his eyes.

"We should keep moving," Grey said. His tone was surprisingly gentle.

Michael nodded gravely.

"How?" Dave asked. "If the door's blocked…"

But Grey was already looking past him, at the water pouring into the chasm. He pointed to its source.

They were going to have to jump to reach the grate.

"Great," Dave whispered.

**** *

Once they were in the pipe beyond the grate, which had required Grey to practically drag Dave across the gap, the idea made it into his head that the maze of tunnels old pipe lines was never going to end. As they crawled forward, Dave worried they would be stuck down there forever, until they starved or fell victim to all the Tzimisce monsters wandering around. And all the while the Nosferatu were probably watching and laughing at them, assuming they weren't all dead.

The feeling of hopelessness only lifted somewhat after they made it out of the pipe. Dave had been the last to climb in, so he was the last to climb out. He couldn't help but notice that Michael looked particularly grim, but there was no real surprise there. Grey just looked distracted again.

"How much further do you think it is?" Dave asked.

"I don't know," Grey said. "How much deeper do you think we can go?"

The answer was just a short walk from where they had emerged. The dank tunnel dead ended at a massive chasm that extended so far down it made Dave dizzy just to look at it. The drop they had just crossed was nothing compared to that. Pipes wormed around the edges of it, and along with the occasional beam extending across the length were their only chance of making it down without dying horribly. They'd still die horribly if they made one wrong step on the way.

Dave stepped away from the edge. "I can't do this."

"There's not much of a choice, Dave," Grey said.

"No, there's no way…" Dave said.

"This is the _only_ way." Grey stepped forward and squeezed his shoulder. He glanced over to Michael, who had no encouraging words to offer. He hadn't had a problem with the height before, and the look of grim resignation was still firmly in place on the readable half of his face.

"Just follow along after us," Grey said.

Before Dave could try and argue again, Grey dropped down. He gasped and ran to the edge, only to find Grey standing on a wide stretch pipe a few feet below.

"You asshole!" Dave shouted. His voice echoed down the pit.

Grey grinned. "You just take it slowly, one jump at a time."

He turned back and, after a moment to gauge the next jump, leapt effortlessly to the next beam below. Dave felt sick. He looked to Michael, who gestured he go ahead.

Dave stood at the edge and tried to focus on the first jump. Try as he might, his gaze kept slipping to the massive drop that was just beyond it.

"Come on, Dave," Grey said.

Dave leapt and, surprisingly, did not plummet to his death. There were still way too many jumps before they reached the bottom.

"See?" Grey said. Dave hadn't even watched him make the last jump, but he was already further down the shaft. "That wasn't so bad, was it?"

"Shut up."

Dave closed his eyes. He tried to tell himself he shouldn't be afraid. He was a badass, bloodsucking creature of the night. A really ugly, badass, bloodsucking creature of the night. People should be afraid of him, he shouldn't be afraid of anything, least of all heights.

He made the next jump, waiting for his legs to stop shaking, and repeated the mantra before taking the next.

It was very slow going.

*****

Grey was waiting for him at the bottom. Dave sank to the ground as soon as he landed, happy just to lay crouched like that for a moment.

"What was that you kept muttering to yourself?" Grey asked.

"What?"

"On the way down."

"Um…" Dave hesitated. Michael landed right beside him. "It's nothing. Let's keep moving."

"Whatever you say…" Grey smiled. As they continued on into a particularly old stretch of tunnels Dave kept his mouth shut, too embarrassed to say anything.

They passed into a series a tunnels that looked like they were at least a hundred years old. Many of the naked bulbs hanging from the ceiling were out. Water oozed from cracks in the walls, making Dave wonder how much longer the place could hold up. The smell of mold and worse was everywhere. The tunnels themselves were eerily quiet. There were signs that monsters like the ones before had been there, that much was clear by the misshapen hand and footprints in the dirt. The dried splatters of blood on the wall were hard to make out on the dingy bricks, but they were there.

Dave didn't dare comment on what he saw. When he noticed faded numbers and letters as they rounded a corner, he simply pointed. Grey nodded and, at the next intersection, they found another number, one higher than before. Dave slowly moved forward. The numbers helped to keep them from going in circles, but they couldn't tell them which direction to take. Dave looked to Grey, who shrugged.

Michael snapped his fingers to draw their attention. He pointed down the tunnel to the left. Dave thought he was directing them where to go until he saw the shape hurtling toward them at an incredible speed. It was a person, or at least a person shaped thing, as it was running faster than any human being could ever manage. Dave threw himself back against the wall. There was a rush of air as whatever it was ran past them in a blur of motion. It moved too fast for Dave to make out anything.

"What the hell was that?" he asked.

"A Kindred?" Grey said. "I don't know."

There was a scream from the far end of the tunnel, a woman's scream. Michael was charging towards the source before Dave and Grey could even exchange looks. They quickly followed behind him.

The tunnel to the right slopped upward, leading them to a T intersection. Just around the corner to the left a female Nosferatu, apparently the same one who had zipped past a moment ago, was struggling against two new monsters. They were bigger than the ones they had run into before, though not as big as the thing Michael had finished off. One of them had caught her in its ape like arms, allowing the second to slash her again and again with hands that had been twisted into bone scythes. The Nosferatu shrieked and pulled against the first to no avail. She kicked wildly at the second, succeeding only in allowing it to cut her legs.

Dave stepped forward hesitantly. He wasn't sure how they were going to handle two of the things at once, and even if they ran they would probably only get lost in the maze of tunnels. Still, he felt he had to do something. He shot a helpless look to Grey, who had to pull Michael back to keep him from charging in alone.

In the midst of her struggling, the Nosferatu caught sight of the three of them. She managed to wrench one arm free of the creature's grasp. It responded by tightening its grip on her. She howled as her ribs cracked one by one, but she was still able to throw something at him. Dave looked down. It was an oddly shaped key.

"G-37!" She yelled. "Go!"

Grey picked the key up from the ground. Dave was still too dumbfounded to respond. He wanted to protest, or to charge in for a suicidal attempt to rescue her, but just as she opened her mouth she pulled at something glinting on her chest. The bandolier of grenades strung across her chest was missing several, but in tunnels that old it wouldn't matter.

"GO!" She shrieked.

They all turned and ran. Even from the bottom of the hill Dave could feel the explosion. It shook the tunnels and made every light strung along the ceiling flicker. Bits of mortar fell from the ceiling, and when Dave stupidly looked up to the source he saw cracks quickly spreading through the bricks. Grey grabbed him by the arm and yanked him forward, forcing his attention on the path ahead.

They passed one intersection after another, desperately calling the numbers out loud until they found the one they were looking for. They rounded the corner of G-37 and were surprised to find it opened on a massive circular chamber. Dave turned around and looked back the way they had come. The tunnels did not collapse right behind them, but the cloud of dust that drifted slowly towards them made it clear there was likely no chance of going back the way they had come. They were trapped again.

The new chamber they found themselves looked just as old as the tunnels themselves. A short set of metal stairs let up to a platform that encircled a massive hold in the ground that was sealed off by a series of metal plats. At the other end of the platform was a bank of machines that looked surprisingly well maintained. As they slowly made their way over, Dave was surprised to hear the quiet hum of machinery. After so much defunct technology it was amazing to find something that actually worked.

The blue screen on the monitor overlooking the passageway was not reassuring. Dave turned to the machines set against the wall, but he could make no sense of the needles trembling on the gauges. On the center console he found a small metal box. He flipped it up and was surprised to find a slot that looked perfect for the key the girl had tossed to them. The whole setup felt surreal to Dave. It made him think of disaster movies with dramatic missile launch sequences. Glancing over his shoulder, he noted the hole was large enough to hold something like that.

"Maybe we shouldn't…" Dave said quietly.

Grey apparently didn't share his reservations. Pushing him to one side, he placed the key in the slot. He turned it without a moment's hesitation. There was a click, and the platform beneath them shook as the plates over the hole slowly retracted. Dave could see nothing but darkness beyond.

"You think this is it?" Grey asked.

"I can't see the bottom," Dave said.

Michael silently moved past them to the center of the platform, where another short flight of stairs led down into the abyss. Maybe at one point they spiraled all the way down to the bottom, but all Dave saw were four steps that led to nowhere. Michael descended them one by one slowly and peered out over the edge.

"W-wait!" Dave called, reaching a hand out to him. "You can be serious!"

Michael looked over at him and shrugged.

He stepped out into the void.

Dave pressed himself over the railing just in time to see Michael disappear into the darkness. He didn't make a sound on the way down. No scream, no garbled equivalent of Geronimo, he just fell.

Seconds passed. Dave heard a distant splash. He relaxed his grip on the railing.

"Talk about a leap of faith," Grey muttered.

Dave nodded mutely, still rattled by it.

Grey turned to him and grinned. "So… You wanna go first or what?"


	40. Gorgeous Gary Golden

**Chapter 40: Gorgeous Gary Golden**

In the end Grey agreed that they would jump together. He stood side by side with Dave at the edge of the stairs, the pit down into god knew what yawning right beneath their feet. They'd faced much worse that night, but Dave was still shaking. Grey put his arm around him.

"Okay, on three, alright?" Grey said.

Dave nodded and whimpered in assent.

"One…" Grey said slowly, squeezing Dave's shoulder.

He looked up and saw his better half standing on the platform across the way. Paul waved.

"Three," Grey said. He pulled Dave down with him.

The drop was longer than he expected, thus why it really hurt when they hit the water. With his grip firmly on Dave's collar, Grey pulled him up with him. As soon as their heads broke the surface Dave punched him. It stung considerably worse than the initial impact.

"I wasn't ready!" Dave said, his voice echoing all around them.

"That was the point," Grey said. "We don't have all night."

Dave splashed him for that.

Looking around, Grey saw they were in some sort of underground lake. A dock stretched out over the center of the water. The rusted lamppost curving over it cast a feeble circle of light in the abyss. A horrible feeling of dread washed over Grey. If not lights in the distance marking the edge of the lake, making it clear this abyss was nothing like his visions, he might have lost it right there. Grey closed his eyes and waited for the moment to pass. The darkness did not help.

Michael, still dripping wet, was sitting with his legs dangling over the edge of the wooden platform. He waved when he saw them, and when they swam over he helped each of them up.

"You're crazy, you know that?" Grey said. "What if this was all just rock?"

Michael shrugged. There was no mirth in his eyes, but he looked at least a little better than before. He was holding up amazingly well, all things considered, but then, so had Dave. Grey envied them both.

"Where are we?" Dave said, looking around. The cavern rough about the same size as the chamber they had fallen from, at least in circumference. Grey squinted down the length of the dock, but the other end refused to bring itself into clearer focus. He rubbed his eyes and tried again, but his vision stubbornly remained normal.

"Something wrong?" Dave asked.

"No…" Grey said. "Just water in my eyes. We might as well go see what's on shore."

Try as he might to hide it, he sounded shaken. Dave looked at him uncertainly, but nodded and took the lead. Michael gave him the same curious stare. Grey glared at him until he walked away. As he followed at the rear, Grey tried a different tactic. Though he knew it was foolish to try it when their collective footsteps were echoing loudly through the cavern, he tried to pitch his hearing beyond the norm. He waited for the noise to become thunderously loud, but it didn't. It was the simplest trick he knew, and it had failed. Grey was very badly shaken by the time he stepped onto the sandy shore.

"Grey?" Dave said.

"Long night," Grey said. "I mean nights. It's catching up to me is all… Let's just get this over with."

He had a feeling he knew exactly where they were, judging by the two passageways cut in the rock. Festive Christmas lights lined the openings, with more lights visible down the tunnels. Not knowing which path was right, or even safe, they filed into one at random. Grey was too caught up in trying to figure why his powers had failed to worry about a possible ambush.

"So these are the warrens?" Dave said. "I mean… the real warrens. The inner sanctum or whatever."

"What did you expect?" Grey asked.

"I don't know…" Dave put his hand out to steady himself as the path suddenly sloped upwards. "But not this."

The passageway they were being funneled through had all the claustrophobic charm of a mine shaft. Grey ran his hand along the roughly hewn rock as he walked, all the while thinking of how easy it would be if someone wanted to bury them there. A thick black wire was strung haphazardly along the ceiling, in some places it sagged so low that they had to duck to avoid getting hit by a light bulb. After several disorienting turns, the tunnel opened abruptly into what looked like a small common area. A ragged old couch was sitting against one wall, an equally ratty looking card table was next to the other. Judging by the cards on the table, the players had had hastily abandoned the game.

There was no sign of the players themselves, nor anyone. The only sign of life Grey had seen since they'd landed in the lake was the small rat that eyed them warily from its perch on the couch. It squeaked and scurried away when Dave took a step closer. Dave ignored it and knelt down to pick up what looked like a CD jewel case. After examining the case he slipped it into the front pocket of his hooded sweatshirt without a word. Grey didn't bother questioning it.

They took the same route as the rat. As they moved deeper into the tunnels their way was lit by stolen neon signs and even traffic lights. None of the doors they came across matched, either. Some looked like they'd been ripped right off the front of a nice home, others were little more than reinforced plywood, and every one Grey tried was locked.

It all felt strangely familiar to Grey, but he'd grown used to inexplicable feelings of déjà vu since he died. That, and the voices inside his own head. He'd almost gotten used to the absence of them, but as they continued down the cramped tunnel he could swear he heard an unfamiliar voice mutter something. An unexpected lump rose in the back of his throat. First he'd despaired at the loss of the voices, now he felt the same over their possible return. He really needed to make up his mind about what he wanted.

"Yes, what _do_ you want?" He heard Paul ask. He didn't dare turn his head, nor would he answer.

He didn't have to. They both knew all he wanted was for things to go back to normal.

"What do you mean by _normal_, anyway?" Paul asked. "I mean… Would that be normal before you died, or after? You were never really normal, remember?"

Grey closed his eyes and tried to shut him out. In the silence, he could hear other voices whispering.

"Did you hear that?" Dave asked.

Grey's eyes shot open. "You heard it too?"

"Sounds like… whispering."

The relief almost made him laugh. When they stopped to listen, they of course heard nothing.

"Let's just keep moving."

The tunnel widened, opening on a passage containing even more mismatched doors. Some even had numbers nailed into the walls beside them. Grey wasn't about to try every door in the place. If they were looking for the Primogen himself, it stood to reason that his would be the very last. While Dave looked around, Grey pushed past him and took the lead, following the new string of lights to the end.

The passageway opened on another, slightly smaller cavern than before. A metal catwalk stretched over another pool of what looked like water, though the foul smelling vapors rising from the surface made Grey doubt it was. The metal groaned as the trio crossed over, and the bleached skeleton Grey saw half submerged in the water made him certain it wasn't water beneath them. He moved a little faster, hesitating only when they came to a gap in the walkway. The second half of the bridge was slightly raised, forcing them to jump to continue.

He shouldn't have been surprised when one of the rods suspending the platform snapped under his weight. With a groan of metal, the platform sagged to one side. It titled sharply downward as Dave leapt after him. Grey dove for the safety of the rock. He felt Dave grab his leg and was dragged backwards by the sudden weight. There was a splash from somewhere just behind him, followed by loud hissing. Grey looked back, afraid of what he might see. No matter how he felt about Michael, he wouldn't have wished that fate on anyone.

It was hard to make sense of things at first. There was Dave, his arms wrapped around his leg and his bald, lumpy head pressed against his jeans. And then there was Michael, his eyes wide with fright as he clung to Dave. It was a short drop to the pool bubbling beneath them. If Grey fell, they all fell, and he was the only one without any degree of supernatural strength. The weight of the two Nosferatu clinging to him was too much. Grey felt himself slip back an inch, Michael drew in a ragged breath, his teeth clicking frantically as he tried to speak. Grey got the gist of it. They were all going to die if he didn't do something. He dug his fingers into the dirt only to leave deep furrows behind as he slipped a little more. Dave tightened his grip making Grey grit his teeth against the crushing pain.

He looked up to find Paul towering over him. "What? It's all you."

Though he doubted it would work, Grey concentrated. He didn't have the strength to pull them all up, but he could fix that. It wasn't so long ago that he never would have thought about it, much less doubted it, but a lot had changed in a very short amount of time. He could see his skin flush as vitae welled into his muscles. The veins just under his skin stood out as he dragged them forward, inch by agonizing inch. The pressure on his legs lifted as Dave and Michael climbed up. Grey collapsed face down on the dirt. He didn't bother looking up to see who patted him on the back. The blood strength faded much faster than it should have, leaving him feeling drained.

"That was really close," Dave said. Michael grunted something in assented.

Grey pushed himself up, swayed, and immediately fell backwards. It was Michael who caught him.

"Grey?" Dave said.

"You know… I'm starting to think there was an easier way." Grey said. "One that didn't involve a lake of death."

"Yeah, you're probably right." He had to give Dave credit for not pressing him. "It can't be much further now."

Against his better judgment, Grey remained in the lead. The tunnel beyond that was even more cramped that before. He was forced to crawl on his hands and knees up to the lavish set of double doors the path dead ended at.

"This better be it," he muttered under his breath.

The rock face of the hall just beyond the doors was much smoother than the one they had come from, smooth enough to allow a series of glass poster cases to hang neatly on them. The cases looked like they had been taken right from an old fashioned movie theatre, complete with lights ringing them. Many of the bulbs had burnt out, but the contents were still well lit.

The faded posters inside the cases were for old movies Grey recognized by title alone. Tap Hotel… Pirate Town… They were the kind of silver screen classics everyone heard about, maybe even saw clips from, but never bothered to watch. Gary Golden was the most prominent name in almost every poster.

Grey kept moving. Beyond the cases, the only source of light in the room was from a candelabra burning in the center of a large dining table. The silverware was tarnished, the plates were chipped, but it obviously didn't matter much to the dinner guests placed around the table.

"What the hell…" Dave said. He didn't get to see the scene in its full glory until he stepped around Grey to the right. Michael stepped to the left, his gasp more or less echoing what Dave said.

There were corpses propped up in each seat. Very old, moldering corpses in very nice clothes. A red wig had been placed on the skull of the woman's skeleton leaning over the head of the table. Each plate had a dead rat lying belly up in its center, and a host of maggots were feasting in the place of the guests. Grey was too exhausted from the ordeal to be disgusted. He'd seen worse.

"By the clack-smack cracking of my thumbs," the raspy, sing-song voice seemed to echo all around them. Grey, in spite of everything, was startled by it. "Something wicked this way comes."

The three of them spread out, each looking wildly for the source of the voice. Aside from the corpses, there was no one in sight.

"I don't remember seeing you on the guest list for the dinner party... we're having a wrap party for The Misfits about forty years late." Grey glanced back to the macabre table. "Cast and crew only, boss."

"Where are you?" Dave called.

"We just need to talk," Grey added.

Michael said nothing.

"We are talking." The voice said coyly. It sounded like it was right behind Grey. "But you aren't listening, boss."

Grey spun around. No one was there.

"You should know this, Nosferatu." Grey saw Dave tense, but there was still no way to pinpoint the speaker. "What do our kind want? We want to know. What's the first question you would ask, if you were me?"

Dave was silent for a moment. He glanced at Michael before answering. "Why are you here?"

"Exactly! Ooh, you do catch on quick, don't you, boss?" Grey looked to Michael, who shook his head. The voice went on, "Maybe our girl Josie picked you for a reason, after all… Because, I already know _who_ you are. But, I don't know _why_ you're here. And, when I don't know something, I need to find the answer."

"We're looking for the Nosferatu," Dave said.

"And why would you need to find them, boss?"

"Because we need to know what happened to the Ankaran Sarcophagus."

"You don't say…" The voice's unpleasant laughter echoed throughout the room. "Wake up, boss! Who do you think you're dealing with? Why else would LaCroix send you on this snipe hunt? Oh, that's right... I know you work for the prince."

"Then why did you ask?" Grey said. He was already sick of this game.

"Because I like the sound of my own voice." Again the voice sounded as if it was right behind Grey, so close that the growl that followed made him tense. "It's not everyday we get visitors, boss. I needed to hear it from you. You're a long way from home, and neither the prince nor Isaac nor Nines have any domain down here. Tread carefully."

"You're really trying my patience…" Grey hissed.

"Strong words, coming from you, boss," the voice crowed. "And very plain words, too. Hmm…"

Grey's eyes widened. He'd forgotten about that.

"Grey, please," Dave whispered. He glanced around and settled for addressing the ceiling. "Come on, we just want to talk face to face."

"Are you sure, boss?" The voice said. "You don't want my image in your subconscious. It's the stuff nightmares are made of."

"Like this isn't?" Grey heard Dave mutter under his breath.

"Nightmares are all we've got," Grey said.

"Careful what you wish for, you just... might... get it!"

Gary suddenly appeared next to Michael. The poor bastard was so surprised he fell right into Grey, who had to steady him with both arms to keep them both from falling to the ground. Gary must have known he was the greenest of the trio, the easiest to scare. His cackling seemed much louder now that he was finally right there with them in plain sight.

He really wasn't that bad looking as far as Nosferatu went, but that probably just meant Grey had gotten far too used to hanging around them. Gary's skin was fish belly white, with remarkably few boils. Then again, there was no telling what things looked like under the tuxedo he wore, which was spattered with dirt and worse. There was a mad gleam in his deeply sunken eyes, and the smile that split across his face showed far too many jagged yellow teeth. The similarities between he and Dave, from the teeth down to the spindly fingers, were remarkable.

"Well, well…" Gary said, looking over each of them in turn. "What a merry little band you three are. Two Nosferatu and a Malkavian… It's like the premise of a bad comedy."

"And you…" Gary turned his beady eyes on Grey. "You're a regular pied piper now, aren't you, boss?"

"Yeah, it's the damnest thing," Grey grumbled. "Where's the sarcophagus?"

Gary tapped his long fingers together. "Oh, yes… Where, where, where did it go? That thing seems to get around more than Mae West. Why, might I ask, should I give you that information?"

"Because then we'd owe you," Dave said. "Which I know counts for something."

"Ooh, clever boy." Gary rounded on Dave, who cringed as he loomed uncomfortably close to him. "Think you've got it all figured out, don't you boss?"

"Um… no."

Gary's eyes bored into Dave. Dave stepped back until his back was against the wall. Gary matched him every step of the way until he had him pinned. Michael tugged on Grey's sleeve and gestured at the two, urging him to intervene. Grey shook his head.

"Think you're cock of the walk, eh, _boss_?" Gary's face was just inches from Dave's.

"No!" Dave cried, holding his hands up. "Look, I didn't ask for any of this, okay?"

"Then why did she pick you?" Gary bellowed. He grabbed Dave and hauled him off his feet. "What did she see? Why would she die for some picture snapping little shit?" He shook Dave. "WHY?!"

"I don't know!" Dave wailed. He turned his head away from the blow that seemed inevitable now.

Grey and Michael watched the two of them in silence. Grey put a hand on Michael's shoulder, if only to hold him back. If they attacked, even now, they would never make it out. The emotion Gary was showing was frightening, and all over Dave's late sire. It made Grey wonder what the connection was. At the same time, he worried what would happen next, as Gary had worked himself up into a hell of a froth. If he frenzied… Well, they might be able to stop him before he pulled Dave's head off.

Seconds passed, Dave held perfectly still while Gary held him up in the air. Grey looked on anxiously.

The tension drained from Gary bit by bit. Rather than lower Dave to the ground, he simply dropped him and turned away. Dave landed with a grunt at his feet.

"I know where your prince's prize is," Gary said. All the good-cheer had drained from the voice. He sounded very tired as he gestured vaguely at the ceiling. "There's very little that doesn't leak down into this place."

The look on his face made Grey nervous. There was incredible sadness etched into his face were a moment before it had been a twisted mask of a glee. Somehow that seemed more dangerous. But that horrible smile slowly crept back in when his gaze fell upon Grey.

"Tell me, boss, you ever gone up against a Kuei-jin?"

"Oh god," Grey said.

"Oh, so you've heard of them?"

"What's a Kuei-jin?" Dave asked. He still hadn't gotten up from the floor.

Gary didn't bother to turn and face him. "The Kuei-jin are vampires, but not like Kindred. Sometimes known as the vampires of the East. But they ain't kin, boss... they're just someone else that, if you ain't being careful, might give you the Final Death."

"What do they have to do with the box?" Grey asked.

"I'm not one to waste words like little Lord Flaunt-LaCroix up there... there's a connection. Want to hear it? Listen..." Gary cupped a hand up to one pointed ear. "I think I hear someone saying something about it. Oh, wait... that's my voice!"

Gary glared at Grey. Grey grit his teeth and waited for him to continue.

"Even for old Gary, there ain't much more to tell." Gary slowly paced into the center of the room, giving Dave the chance to get up. "You see, I sent an agent, Barabus, to snoop around Chinatown... do a little hacking, make a few contacts... but he hasn't been calling lately, and it's breaking my heart."

"What do we have to do?" Dave asked.

"You up for a little trip to Chinatown?" Gary surprised Grey by turning to face Dave again. Dave, in turn, cringed away. "You're in no danger there; me - best you don't mention my name there, boss. That's the going rate for my info right now... you get our chum back from Chinatown, I'll give you what you need."

"Deal," Dave said. "Tell us what we need to do."

"The Golden Temple in Chinatown - it's a piss poor copy of a real place... looks like it'd be more at home in a theme park. That eyesore's where you'll find the leader of the LA Kuei-jin. They call her Ming-Xiao."

"Wait, their leader?" Dave said.

"Sound dangerous?" Gary chuckled. "No, this ain't a suicide mission, boss. You'll be more of a curiosity than a threat. Talk to Xiao, ask her where my boy is, and get him back. Once he's safe, I'll tell you everything you need to know about the sarcophagus."

"So long as you keep your end of the bargain…"

"Of course. What kind of a monster do you take me for?" Gary laughed. "There is a method to my madness, boss. There's a payphone in Chinatown. I'll call you with the info once Barabus is safe... until then, you'll never know where I am."

"Wait!" Grey called, just as Gary began to fade from sight. Gary snarled and turned back to him.

"Don't press your luck, boss…"

Grey grabbed Michael by one of his baggy sleeves and dragged the fledgling in front of him.

"We found this guy in the Tzimisce's haven," Grey said, pointing at Michael. "They forced one of your clan to embrace him, tied him up, and were going to use him for spare parts until we got there."

"So?" Gary said. "What do you think I'm running here, an orphanage? Finder's keepers, boss."

"But LaCroix…"

Gary laughed. "Oh, that's rich… You think LaCroix ever comes down here to take a census, boss? One sewer rat's the same as any other to people like him… No, the only reason dear Josie got the axe was she was stupid enough to get caught in the act."

Gary's expression darkened again. Michael pressed himself against Grey, and Grey found himself clutching Michael like a human shield.

"If not for that…" Another mirthless smile crawled across Gary's face. "Well, what LaCroix doesn't know… You just tell him you rescued your new pet leech while down here in the sewers. It's more or less the truth, isn't it? Just be sure to walk him and feed him and house break him."

Michael bristled at the remark. Grey dug his fingers into his shoulders to keep him from doing anything stupid.

"Now, if that's all, boss," Gary hissed. "I'd appreciate it if you got out of my face… Exit's that way."

He pointed to barely visible door across the room. When Grey looked back from it, Gary was gone.

"Thanks," Dave said softly. "I guess."

They quickly made their way out, leaving Gary alone with his dinner party.


	41. Withering

**Chapter 41: Withering**

The door Gary pointed them to led to yet another tunnel, at the end of which was an incredibly long ladder. It brought them up to a jagged hole in the floor of what looked like a crypt. Dave pushed open the tiny door set in the wall to find that was exactly where they were.

"Huh," Grey said. "Easy access to dinner guests, I suppose."

"That's sick, Grey," Dave said. "I mean… That whole thing with the table… and the corpses… Ugh, I don't even wanna think about it."

"But at least it's over."

Dave gave him an odd look. It wasn't like Grey to look on the bright side.

"What?"

"Nothing."

They stayed close and moved very cautiously through the mausoleum. Dave recognized it as the same place they had found the first snuff tape. It already felt like that had been ages ago. They paused at the door leading out, listening for any tell tale signs of zombies near by. Instead of shuffling and moaning, all they heard was crickets. Grey opened the door a crack and looked out.

Dave stood back, anxiously waiting for the grim news.

"All clear," he said. He sounded just as surprised.

"Maybe they're all… Uh… Maybe that Romero guy shot them all."

"Or maybe they're taking a night off. Either way, I'm running for it."

"I'm with you," Dave said.

He didn't even think about Michael until the reached the hole leading out of the cemetery. He was still with them, had even run across the cemetery without every exactly knowing why, but he'd been so quiet Dave had almost forgotten about him. Now that they were safely out of the sewers Dave was amazed he had stuck by them. He half expected him to sneak off the first chance he got, and he could have done that easily while they were preoccupied with the threat of zombies.

"So… does this mean you're staying with us?" Dave asked. "Even now?"

Michael nodded.

"What other choice is there?" Grey said. It was somehow reassuring to hear the sour tone back in his voice. "The other Nosferatu won't take him in, and we can't just cut him loose. We're all stuck."

"That's not necessarily a bad thing," Dave protested.

"Oh yeah?" Grey said. "And how are we supposed to make it home? We can't just have him hide and hope he can keep up with us. And then the taxi…"

Dave looked to Michael, who looked absolutely wretched at being reminded the lower half of his face was a nightmarish mess.

"I have an idea," Dave said. "Wait here."

Assuming a haggard looking face, Dave crawled out of the hole and found there was still a group of homeless people clustered around a fire not far from the gate. Checking to make sure he looked just as shabby as the rest, he slowly walked over. The group warming their hands over the fire eyed him warily until they noticed he was just like them, after which they nodded in what passed as a welcome.

Five minutes later Dave crawled back into the hole with a very ragged scarf in hand. It wasn't worth the soggy twenty he'd paid for it, but it fixed at least one problem. He handed it over to Michael, who looked at it as though he'd just handed him a dead cat.

"Hey, it'll do until we can get home, alright?"

Michael nodded and reluctantly put the scarf on.

"That's uncanny," Grey said, admiring the new look. "You'd hardly even know…"

Dave cleared his throat. It was true, aside from the mouth Michael still looked shockingly normal. His features were just warped enough to make him look like he was in the grips of some kind of consumptive disease, or maybe drug addiction, but people wouldn't run away screaming from him as long as they didn't see what was under the scarf.

The fire was abandoned by the time they all crawled out from the cemetery. Dave had told them that the cops were likely to sweep the area in another half hearted attempt at cleaning up Hollywood's streets. He was surprised they bought it, but their absence made things easier.

"At least the worst of the blood washed off…" Grey said, looking himself over. He was a wreck, but then Michael wasn't much better with his clothes that were now a few sizes too big.

As the walked toward the street, Grey fell in step beside Dave.

"That wasn't a bad idea, you know," he said. The compliment sounded incredibly awkward, but it compelled Dave to say something in response.

"Sorry to get you wrapped up in all this… again."

Grey patted him on the shoulder. "We're friends, remember? I'd do anything for your warty ass."

"Same goes for your crazy ass."

Michael watched the two of them with a puzzled look on his face.

It was too hard to explain, so why bother?

****

"Thank god you're home!"

Heather practically leapt at Grey as soon as he was through the door. She refused to let go of him once she had her arms around him, so Dave and Michael were forced to slip around them to get inside.

"Yeah, so, this is Grey's place," Dave said. Michael looked utterly baffled over how normal the place was. He probably expected a coffin in plain sight, or maybe a lot of velvet and candelabras. Dave noticed heather had worked on the place a lot while they were gone. It was cleaner, with some attempts made at redecorating the place to at least make it look less barren. There was probably a lot to work with given all the stuff Grey had crammed into the storage room. He didn't seem upset about it, but then he was too busy trying to pry Heather off.

Heather, meanwhile, was trying to relay everything that had happened since they were gone without taking any breaths. Dave was only able to pick out a few words, mostly because Heather had her face pressed against Grey's chest as she spoke. Grey looked up at him.

"I think maybe we should leave you two alone," Dave said, taking Michael by the arm.

Grey gave him an incredibly nasty look.

"We'll just be upstairs."

Dave dragged Michael along with him.

****

Dave closed the door. It still couldn't completely shut out the sound of Heather's babbling, but it helped. He felt bad for ditching Grey, but Heather was his ghoul. Besides, Dave had always had trouble dealing with normal hysterical women, he didn't care to see how much an addiction to vampire blood amped that up. If he had stayed, he would have just ended up sitting on the couch half heartedly patting someone's back. Maybe that was why he was pressed against the door like he just escaped a pack of rabid dogs.

Grey's room was in perfect order. The bed was made and the floor was clear. Dave hadn't realized the carpet was gray. There were even framed prints back on the wall. Before there had only been pale spots and empty hooks to mark where they used to hang. The room reeked of floral scented air freshener.

Michael was looking at him oddly. Dave slid away from the door and took a seat on the bed.

"Okay, so… to explain…"

Michael was staring at him. Dave realized he was still wearing the bum look from before. He let it drop, though he knew that wasn't the reason for the stare. It still helped buy him some time to think.

"See, the only way humans- which we apparently call 'kine'- can know about us without being killed is if they're… if they also drink vampire blood. They, I mean we, call them ghouls."

Michael's eyes widened. Time to backpedal.

"It's really not as bad as it sounds, I swear! All the blood drinking thing does is keep them from aging and… uh… keep them loyal. But they're not slaves! They are totally, most definitely not slaves! They've got free will and they can walk away any time but… uh… if they did I guess they would have to… be… um… Shit."

Dave stood up and started pacing the room. There wasn't much room for it. Michael took his place on the bed, if only to give him more space.

"I know this sounds bad, but she needs him, and he needs her and it's… it's like a weird, symbiotic relationship. I mean, I'm pretty sure he saved her life by making her a ghoul."

Michael gave him a skeptical look.

"Oh, yeah, vampire blood heals people, too. It's crazy how much it does, if you think about it."

Michael looked down at his knees. Dave really wished he _could_ say something. More than that, he wished Grey would hurry up and calm Heather down. He could explain things better, even if he didn't like Michael that much.

"Right, the blood drinking… It takes a little getting used to, yeah. You don't have to kill people when you feed, either. You just take a little bit, they get a little light headed. It's practically like donating blood… Y'know, the normal way of donating blood. But you can't let people know what you are, so you have to be sneaky about it…"

Michael would not look up. Dave struggled on.

"When you… feed… it causes this feeling of euphoria. Like getting high. It makes it easier for everybody, really. They feel good, you feel good, everybody's happy. Just don't kill them. Accidentally, I mean. Cause if you're not careful it… Wow, I suck at this."

Michael shook his head and looked up. He put a hand out in what Dave hoped meant it was okay. Dave sat down on the other side of the bed, careful to keep a wide distance between them.

"The truth is I'm really new at this myself… It's only been, like, days… weeks… I don't know, I've lost track of time. One minute I'm just trying to pay the rent… Now I've gotta worry about blood, and making sure nobody sees me like this, and the fact that I look like this… It's a lot to deal with. I guess you know that now."

Michael reached over and very awkwardly, very lightly, patted him on the back.

"Why are you even here, anyway?"

Michael froze, caught off guard by the question.

"Sorry… But, I don't know… You knew about vampires before, and it was pretty you hated them, I mean us. I know being one kinda changes things, but why'd you go with us instead of… Well, you know."

Michael frowned at the question. Dave felt bad for even asking. It sure as hell wasn't something he could easily answer with a yes, no, or hand gestures.

In the silence that fell between them, Dave could hear shouting coming from downstairs. He stood up and moved closer to the door. It sounded like Grey.

"Dave!" Heather cried. The urgency in her voice filled him with dread. "Dave, get out here!"

He flung open the door and ran outside.

Grey was writhing on the floor. Heather stood over him. She looked terrified.

"What did you do?" Dave demanded. He ran down the stairs two at a time. Michael remained on the balcony.

"Nothing!" Heather cried. "I didn't do anything! We were talking and he just… his eyes… Oh god, is he having a stroke? Can vampires have strokes?"

"What're you asking me for? I don't know!"

Grey writhed on the floor like a thing possessed. Dave stepped forward and knelt down beside him. He reached out to Grey, then quickly jerked his hand back when his own arm inadvertently swatted at him. He didn't seem aware of what he was doing, or of Dave's presence. His eyes were rolled up in his head, showing only the whites. Blood oozed from his nose and his ears. It really did look like he was in the grips of a fatal seizure.

And all the while he shouted things in a language, or languages, Dave could make no sense of.

Bracing himself, Dave lunged forward and grabbed Grey. As he held him up Grey's arms and legs continued to spasm. Whether coincidence, or in response to Dave's touch, his babbling quieted, until he was speaking in a low whisper. It was a while before he said something Dave could understand.

"I see you…" Grey hissed in a low voice. "I see you watching where I walk though the jasmine field. Listen closely as I talk about the stars and lovers past…"

He gnashed his teeth and tensed again. He grabbed on to Dave's shirt and pulled himself close. Blood tears oozed from his eyes. Dave closed his eyes and tried not to focus on the scent. "Noo…" Grey groaned. "Oh no, no, no, no… Please… No… No…"

He began to cry, which in the space of a few seconds slowly built into hysterical laughter.

He barked something unrecognizable again before he fell limply against Dave.

"For if you lay hands upon the root…" He whispered. "You'll know me without illusions. And find me guilty of the truth."

Grey shuddered. His face was a bloodied mess.

"Now…" He sighed. "It is now… Look."

Grey's fingers dug painfully into him. Dave looked down. Their eyes met. He had never seen Grey so terrified.

"Grey?" Dave said.

Grey screamed. Dave recoiled. Grey's scream rose and rose, until it seemed like it would never end, until Dave wished his ear drums would burst just so it would stop. He closed his eyes, but even as Grey shrieked he kept his arms wrapped around him. He had no idea what was happening, but he couldn't let go.

And then it stopped.

Grey fell silent. In that same moment, he went limp in Dave's arms.

Dave looked down. Grey's eyes were closed. Dave shook him. He didn't respond.

"Grey?" Heather said. She looked up at him, fresh tears welling in her eyes. "What happened? Is he dead?"

"I don't know," Dave said. He felt numb. He had no idea what had happened- what was happening. Without thinking, he wiped the blood from Grey's face with his sleeve.

"Do something!" Heather cried.

"Shut up!" Dave howled. The beast, he realized too late, was taking advantage of the stress. He bit his lips, using the pain to focus as he closed his eyes. "Let me think… Just let me think…"

"Does he need blood?" Heather asked. "I can give him blood. I can give him everything, just let me get a knife!"

"No!" Dave snapped.

Heather froze halfway to the kitchen.

"We just need to stay calm… Maybe… Maybe he just needs rest."

"What if he's dead?" Heather said. "I mean, really dead."

The look Dave gave her stopped her from going on.

"We wait and see," Dave said. He looked down at Grey.

He really did look dead.

Dave rose slowly, cradling Grey in his arms. He didn't feel any lighter than before. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe at sunset he would wake up, and it would be like nothing had ever gone wrong. Dave staggered forward. He was maybe more shaken by the whole experience than he realized.

He looked up and saw Michael standing on the stairs.

He didn't know what to say.


	42. A Fresh Perspective

**Chapter 42: A Fresh Perspective**

All Michael could do was step aside as David passed. There was nothing he could say, even if he still had the capacity to speak. The girl, the _ghoul_, paid no attention to him as she rushed up the stairs after David. She wept for Grey as if he were a lost lover. Feeling that he had no part in what was unfolding, Michael sat down on the stairs. From the open door above, he could hear Heather's hysterical questions and David's equally hysterical answers.

The scarf wrapped around his mouth itched. He pulled it down. His lips felt raw, but that wasn't quite right. He didn't have lips anymore. He raked his fingers through his hair, only to be reminded it was several inches longer than it had been a week ago.

A week ago he had been alive.

Truth was he didn't know what to think now.

Truth was things had stopped making sense to him long before he drew his last breath.

Perhaps he was damned long before then as well.

From upstairs, Michael could hear the girl's quiet sobs.

"Get it together!" David yelled. He sounded as though he was very close to hysterics as well. "We just have to… have to be calm…"

"Calm!" Heather wailed. "How can I be calm when-"

David shushed her. "It's okay! It's okay! We just have to wait, alright? It'll pass. It was just some kind of fit, right? It's nothing."

"N-nothing," Heather echoed.

"Right…" Silence fell between them. Heather sniffled.

Michael heard David take a deep breath and exhale it in a sigh. "I need you to do something for me, alright? Can you do that?"

"Uh-huh…"

"Alright… Go wash your face, then go to the neighbors. Say Grey's your boyfriend and he has a condition. Explain to them that what they heard was an… I don't know, an epileptic fit or something."

"What if they've already called 911?"

"Then… I don't know. Just hurry, okay?"

"Kay…"

He heard another door, presumably the bathroom's, slam shut. Silence followed.

The thought crossed his mind, as it had countless times before, that now would be a good time to strike. They were distracted, emotional, and one of the vampires was already incapacitated.

He reached up and lightly touched his fingers to his teeth, careful not to prick them this time.

Right. He was one of the vampires now.

He lost all his weapons, anyway.

Michael pulled the scarf back over his mouth and slowly climbed the stairs. He found Grey lying on the bed, looking very much like the dead thing that he was. David was propping a pillow under his head in a futile attempt to make him more comfortable. He jerked back in surprise when he finally noticed Michael standing in the doorway. The look on his face shook Michael. He'd never thought creatures like him capable of such sorrow.

Creatures like him. He mentally slapped himself.

"I don't know what to do…" David said. He'd mistaken Michael's look of bemusement for sympathy. The horrible thing was, Michael truly felt sorry for them. David had saved him and, for all his complaints and snide remarks, Grey had gone along with his decision. Real monsters would have left him, or worse, drank from him while he lay helpless.

The thought only reminded him of how terribly thirsty he was.

"He's had… weird spells like this before, but never like this. It was like he was possessed."

_Maybe he was_, Michael thought.

David stared at Grey's still form. "I thought he was dying."

_Maybe he was_, Michael thought.

The bathroom door opened. Though it was in no danger of slipping, Michael reached up and adjusted the scarf. The smell of liquor on the cloth- among other, equally pungent odors- was easy to avoid so long as he didn't breathe. Heather was still a wreck, if a freshly scrubbed wreck. She looked surprised to see him as she stepped out of the bathroom. Of course, she hadn't exactly been in any condition to notice him before.

"Oh, um…" She looked to David for explanation. "Hi."

"This is Michael," David said. "A friend of ours… Michael, this is Heather."

Heather looked at him uncertainly. Michael nodded. Somehow the introductions made things feel even more surreal.

"He doesn't say much," David added.

Michael snorted with laughter. What he really wanted was to scream.

"I should go," Heather said. She pushed past them and hurried down the stairs. David waited for it to slam closed before turning to Michael.

"You don't think he's really dead, do you?"

Michael shrugged. He knew how hard it was to kill a vampire. He also knew from experience that once they were dead they tended to decay very rapidly. Aside from the dried blood and the pained expression still frozen on his face, Grey looked fine. He still looked dead, but there were no signs of decay talking hold.

"Are you sure you still want to stick around?"

Michael hesitated before nodding. Honestly, where else could he go?

"I guess I'd better show you the finer points of feeding, then,"' David said. He must have seen something in Michael's eyes, as he quickly added, "Tomorrow, I mean. It's too late for that now."

Awkward silence followed. Michael's nagging desire to say something manifested itself in the way his mouth twitched beneath the scarf. He could feel the teeth tense and dig into the fabric. He pressed his hand against it to try and stifle it.

"Um…" Michael looked up at David. "Look, I don't wanna sound rude or anything, but… Could you give me a few minutes alone? I've got a lot to think about now. We can talk tomorrow. I mean…. Well, you know."

Michael nodded, unable to hide his relief at the request. Much as he wanted to offer some comfort, the body lying so still on the bed made him nervous. Bowing his head, he backed out of the room and shut the door behind him, leaving David to try and make sense of what happened.

He had problems of his own to mull over. Michael rifled through his pockets as he descended the stairs. Everything was still there. The demon bitch had been too eager to experiment on him to bother stripping him of his possessions. It was even more fortunate that he had lost nothing while traipsing through the sewers. He couldn't exactly call it a blessing.

Taking a seat on the couch, Michael emptied the contents of his pockets and placed them one by one on the empty coffee table. He started with the rosary, the family heirloom that had been passed down for generations. It had been his most treasured foci, now it was just a useless antique. The lock picks he placed next them didn't hold quite as much sentimental value. Eddie had given them to him, had even taught him how to use them. He'd also given him a pistol, but that had been lost somewhere back in the devil's house.

He never cared for Eddie, though it was more for his loathsome personality than the fact he was a Euthanatos. His death was inevitable. If Paradox hadn't overwhelmed him, the resonance of death gathering around him would have driven him into a mindless killing spree. David and Grey would never understand how much easier they had made things. They had inadvertently spared him the chore of putting Eddie down himself.

But if he didn't care about Eddie, why was he getting maudlin over a damned set of lock picks? He shook his head and moved on to the next item.

Michael laid his wallet next in line without bothering to open it. The receipts and ticket stubs in it were doubtlessly ruined, but a little water wouldn't hurt the rest of the contents. All he had to do to see his old face was open it and look at the driver's license on top flap. He should have just thrown it out in the sewers, but that would have left him with only one thing of any value.

He put the wedding ring on the table last. Like everything else he wore, it was several sizes too big now. But even in the midst of the agony, he still had the foresight to slip it away in one pocket once it grew too lose to stay on. It was more important to him than anything of the other junk, even the rosary, and just looking at him pained him.

Julia would never stop looking for him. The ring served as a reminder of that.

_Should have married a Sleeper_, he silently told himself. _Then she'd never find you. She'd just mourn, and wonder, and die never knowing the truth._

Instead he'd fallen for another of the Awakened. It meant Julia understood him as few others could. It meant he never had to hide anything from her. Until now.

Now it was only a matter of time.

Michael picked the ring back up and turned it over in his hands. His Avatar was dead, but there were countless methods of tracking a person. When tracing his living essence failed, the logical progression would be to find his corpse. How would she react when she realized his corpse was still moving about?

Michael squeezed the ring in his hand, so hard that it began to hurt.

He looked to the door. The longer he remained, the more danger he put the others in. There was no way he could possibly explain, so perhaps it was better if he just slipped away.

But, as he had realized ever since he lost his cabal, he was too afraid to be alone.

Especially now.

The door opened. Michael instinctively reached for the rosary. As a weapon it was now about as effective as… Well, a necklace. Heather looked at him strangely when she stepped in and noticed him clutching it. Michael touched the scarf to make sure it was still in place before sitting back as nonchalantly as he could manage.

"Is Dave still upstairs?" she asked.

Michael nodded.

"Is Grey still… um…"

He nodded again.

"Well, I've got good news at least," Heather said, forcing a smile. "The people in the apartments above and below are out, the rest didn't hear anything. It all works out, I guess… Now we just have to wait for Grey to wake up, and then everything will be back to normal."

She didn't believe that. He could see it in her face as well as he heard it in her voice. Michael didn't even want to know what counted as normal for them. Heather, meanwhile, shifted uncomfortably in the silence.

"I should probably go tell Dave," she said.

Michael nodded. She tread a wide circle around him on her way to the stairs, as if she was afraid she would jump her. He couldn't blame her. Even from a distance he could feel the warmth radiating off her. It wasn't until she passed him that he realized that he'd been staring at her throat from the moment she walked through the door. Sooner or later he was going to have to feed, just as David said. The thought of it filled him with dread and revulsion.

Having nothing better to do, Michael put the last of his worldly possessions away.

He leaned back against the couch and tried to clear his mind, particularly of the thoughts of blood that had been lingering with him for hours. He was hardly a novice at meditation- any competent Will-worker knew how to do it, though those outside the Celestial Chorus always acted surprised they put any stock in the practice. Still, it was hard to push the blood lust down, hard to force the worry that had been nagging him all night aside. In trying to grit his teeth he succeeded only in making the muscles around his mouth spasm again.

_Don't think about that_, he told himself. _Don't think about anything._

He took a deep breath through his nose and held it. With no rhythm of his own heartbeat or breathing to focus on, he instead concentrated on the faint hum of the air conditioning. With his mind clear, he felt a tranquil stillness more complete than anything he had achieved in life. There was a reason for that, but he was beyond caring at that moment. For the first time in many nights he felt calm.

A chill ran though him, prickling the skin of his dead flesh. Michael's eyes snapped open. Familiar as the unpleasant sensation was, he never thought he'd feel it again. He assumed his awareness of any ripples in the tapestry of Creation would stop with his Avatar's death. Apparently he was wrong.

The air around him felt charged with energy, which always put him in mind of the quiet right before a summer storm. Julia's resonance. Raw, entropic, a stark contrast to the pattern that was lost to him. He knew it as well as the smell as her perfume.

Even though he sensed the spell- her spell- there was nothing he could do to counter it and hide his presence.

Her resonance faded like a storm rolling out, leaving Michael wondering exactly what the effect was. Did she know where he was? Did she sense the taint in him? The visceral dread the questions filled him with sparked another unsettling thought.

He didn't deserve to live, he knew that. Up until that moment he hadn't realized just how badly he wanted to survive.

He felt sick. Worse than that, he felt incredibly hungry.

It didn't help that Heather was in the room again.

"Oh, sorry," she said, looking surprised. "I thought you'd be asleep… Dave is."

Michael shrugged.

"I guess it makes sense," Heather said. She moved around to the side of the couch. Michael shifted uncomfortably, but she didn't seem to notice. "I mean, Grey always fell asleep before Dave, so why should it be that weird if you can stay up later than him, too? I still don't really get how that works, though."

She was shaken, which naturally would lead anyone to seek out the closest thing to human comfort available. And babble. Michael still wished she would get away from him.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" Heather asked. "I mean, you know, any friend of Grey's… And with Grey gone, I mean, indisposed… I don't know what to do." She uttered a nervous little laugh. Michael was vaguely impressed she had managed to complete a sentence after all that.

"I feel so… lost, you know?"

He knew exactly how she felt. Still, there was nothing he could say to stop her from sitting down on the couch. All he could do was slide as far as way as possible. She didn't seem to take the hint.

"I could get you some new clothes," she offered.

Michael looked over in surprise.

That actually wasn't a bad idea. He nodded slowly and then forced himself to look down at his own ragged pants.

"Really? That's great! I mean, because It'd give me something to do during the day. You have no idea how long that is until you're waiting for sunset… But now I don't know if he's going to wake up."

Michael closed his eyes. He could actually hear her pulse.

"I guess you're into the conservative look, right? I could probably find something… I don't have much money, though."

Michael quickly dug out his wallet and, careful not to look at the card on top, he plucked two bills out. Too afraid to actually make contact with her, he instead dropped them on the couch between them.

"Oh, wow," Heather said.

Michael looked down. He hadn't realized he'd pulled out two hundreds. Whatever. Anything to make her leave.

"Is there anything else?"

He wanted very badly to wave her off, but there was also more. He mimed writing in the air.

"Oh, yeah, right. Hold on."

She ran to the kitchen and, after digging through a few drawers, returned with a notepad and pen.

Michael came dangerously close to brushing her hand as he took them. His own hand trembled as he wrote what he wanted. He pushed the notepad back over when he was done and pressed his hand against his head.

"Oh, um… Okay." Heather said as she looked over the short list. "I can get that, too."

Michael nodded and laid back. Suddenly he felt very tired. That was a relief.

Sleep took him quickly.


	43. Legacies

**Chapter 43: Legacies**

It was weird thinking of Grey's apartment as home. It was almost like old times, only in the old days they would have never been able to afford anything decent. He still didn't get how Grey paid for his current place. There were still no signs of life for Grey, but even in normal circumstances it was too early for that.

It did kind of unnerve Grey that Heather had apparently cleaned and redressed Grey during the day. Like he was some sort of corpse about to be put on display. He found a new set of clothes in his size lying neatly folded on the bed. So the girl had limits. Even if she was his ghoul, he doubted she'd give him the same treatment. Dave reached into the front pocket of his hooded sweatshirt and found the jewel case was still there, and only slightly clacked. 'Property of B. Tung' was written in neat handwriting on the CD itself. The thought crossed his mind that he could use Grey's computer to try and find out what was on it, but everything on it was probably encrypted anyway. Dave stood and tossed the case on the bed.

He was naked to the waist when the bathroom door opened. Michael stepped out and stopped, giving Dave an odd look. There really wasn't any reason for him to clutch his new shirt to his chest like a girl. What did he really have to hide anyway? They were both guys, and both of the same clan. Michael was just going to get have to used to boils and warts. Dave still wasn't.

"Guess she went on a shopping spree," Dave said, eyeing Michael's new clothes.

They really weren't that different that his old clothes. He was still dressed like a casual preacher, but even with clothes that actually fit he looked incredibly thin. Michael had ditched the bum's scarf for a surgical mask. Given the recent disease scares around the city, it could pass, though it was unnerving to think a tiny patch of cloth was all that stood between them and a masquerade violation. Michael scowled at him, which made Dave realize he'd been staring again. He only meant to see if there was any give-away to what was under the mask, but he turned away just the same.

"Um… I'll just change, and then we'll go."

He didn't really _need_ new clothes. He could look like he was wearing anything he was wanted, but after all that running through the sewers it felt good to have something clean to wear. When he was finished he stepped outside and saw Heather curled on the couch with a book. She dropped it and sprang to her feet as Dave and Michael descended the stairs. Dave noticed Michael make a point of keeping his distance from Heather, but apparently she didn't. She reached into her pocket and held out a small wad of bills to Michael.

"Here," she said. "There wasn't that much left over, sorry."

Michael waved her off, a strained look in his eyes. Dave slid in between them.

"Now's really not a good time, Heather."

"Oh, right…" It took a second for her to get exactly what he was saying. She pressed the money into Dave's hand instead. She stopped and look down as she did. "That is so weird. You can't even feel how-"

"We're going now," Dave said, cutting her off. "Look after Grey, alright?"

Heather nodded. For all her eagerness, the worry was still all over her face.

As they stepped outside, Dave wondered what had ever possessed Grey to feed her his blood. With any luck, he'd be able to ask him one night.

****

They went to Santa Monica. Dave didn't feel like taking his chances at the Asylum, so instead he opted for a bar several blocks away. Even with an entirely new face he felt exposed. He hadn't really thought about the possibility of being watched wherever he went until they met Gary. It made sense. He was LaCroix's project. Everyone was probably waiting for him to slip up.

The plan, as Dave had explained in the cab ride over, was that Michael would hide in the alley behind the place while Dave went inside and found someone. The only problem with the plan was that it was hard to get a girl to follow you in a dark alley unless she was too trashed to listen to common sense. That was why, fifteen minutes after he entered the bar, Dave left with a blonde girl in a USC shirt who was so trashed he practically had to drag her around back. He counted himself lucky he could find someone that drunk so early.

"Where're we goin'?" She asked.

"Shortcut," Dave said simply.

"Oh. Kay."

Dave stopped when they reached the rendezvous point. There was no sign of Michael in the alley, but then there shouldn't be. The full weight of what he was doing didn't hit him until the girl stared at him with bleary, confused eyes. For a moment he thought he'd blown it, that she was going to struggle, but in that same moment she bent down and vomited on the pavement. He jumped back just in time to avoid ruining his new pants. That's when he saw Michael, glaring at him disapprovingly from behind the girl.

"It was the best I could do," Dave said.

"Wha?" The girl moaned. She wiped her mouth and stood back up. "Whadja say?"

Michael chose that moment to grab her from behind. He cupped one hand over her mouth to muffle her scream of surprise, and almost pressed his own covered mouth to her throat before he remembered the mask. He yanked it down, easily keeping the girl held with one arm, and Dave had to look away as his fangs connected with her throat.

But he had to watch. That was the whole point. He had to make sure Michael didn't drain the girl dry. When Dave forced himself to look back he saw the girl was already noticeably paler. Michael had his arms wrapped around her in a sick parody of affection as he fed. Dave could see his mouth contort as blood flow through it like a suction hose. Dave didn't know how much was enough, but was pretty sure Michael take too much a lot faster that he could. When he tried to force them apart, Michael growled and pulled the girl closer. The gasp the girl uttered wasn't with pleasure.

"Michael…" Dave said softly. "You have to stop now."

How many seconds had passed? How long before it was too late?

"Michael," Dave said, more urgently. "That's enough! You're gonna kill her!"

Slowly, reluctantly, Michael pulled away from the girl. He swayed a little, and Dave had to step in to catch the girl as he let her drop. She wasn't any lighter than before, and many tiny points of blood left by Michael's teeth reminded Dave he could stand to find someone for himself. He forced himself to look away. Michael looked very unsteady. At first Dave thought it was the shock of what he had done, but no, he was drunk.

"Um…" Dave almost laughed. He should have known. "You have to lick the marks."

Michael nodded as though it required a great deal of effort, leaned forward, and once again Dave was forced to look away as his tongue pushed its way out. When it was done, Dave put his fingers to the girl's throat. There was still a pulse there, but he still wasn't sure if she'd be okay.

"Stay right there," Dave said. "And pull the mask back up already."

Michael uttered a soft chuckle and did as he asked. Dave wondered how long the effects would last as he carried the girl back to the mouth of the alley. He set her down gently where anyone could see her.

"Brian?" She said, struggling to focus on him. It wasn't the name he'd given her.

"No," he said. He glanced around. He couldn't just leave her there. "Is there someone you can call?"

"Yeah… sure…" She dug a slender cell phone out of her shirt, of all places. With a drinking problem like hers she probably couldn't trust herself to carry a purse. She held the 3 button until it triggered the speed dial. Dave headed back down the alley just as her friend picked up.

"Hiiiii Amber," the girl said, her tone suddenly lilting and surprisingly unslurred "Yeah, it's me. Yeah, again… Come get me? Please?"

At least he'd found someone with a system. He hoped she would be alright, but now he had Michael to worry about.

Thankfully Michael was still standing there when he returned.

"You okay?" Dave asked.

Michael nodded. He tried to take a step toward him and ended up stumbling into him.

"Sorry," Dave said. "Should have known. We'd better get out of here."

Michael leaned heavily on him as they left the girl behind. Dave would have to hold off feeding until he sobered up. But first, there was something they had to do. It was the whole reason he'd opted to go all the way to Santa Monica.

****

Michael was already moving a little steadier when they reached the abandoned oil field where Bertram made his haven. He was sitting at the computer tucked in the far corner of the rusted out oil tank, not that it really had corners. His hand immediately went to the gun lying next to the keyboard when Dave entered. Dave froze immediately. Michael stared mutely at Bertram's lumpy cranium. Dave dropped the mask, which made Bertram lower the gun and give him a hard look.

"Coulda knocked, fledgling."

"There's no door," Dave said.

Bertram banged the butt of the gun on the side of the tank right behind his desk. The noise reverberated loudly throughout the whole chamber before finally dying away.

"Point taken."

"So you survived the sewers," Bertram said. "Good for you."

He put the gun back down and turned back to the computer. As Dave led Michael over to the couch in the center of the room he saw Bertram close out all the windows he'd been working in. When he was done he rose and joined his guests.

"Who's your friend?"

"This is Michael," Dave said. He remained standing while Michael sank into the lumpy couch. "We rescued him along the way."

"You come here looking for a medal?" Bertram asked, looking impatient.

"No, actually, I wanted to bring you this…" Dave took out the jewel case.

"Ah, yeah," Bertram said, taking the CD. "I was gonna ask you about that."

"There's also something I wanted to ask you," Dave said. "So hopefully that's payment enough."

Bertram gave him an amused look. "You learn fast. I like that."

"Yeah, well… I have a problem. Something happened to Grey last night."

Bertram's expression immediately sobered. He knew.

"He started freaking out all of the sudden, right?"

"Yeah! How?"

"Convulsing, babbling nonsense… And then it all culminated in him falling into torpor, yeah?"

"Torpor?"

"Think of it as a sort of coma. Not quite dead, but in that state it wouldn't take much to do a Kindred in. Now, usually it only happens when we're badly hurt or starved. And usually it only lasts until we recover or are fed. But in this case the circumstances are pretty damn unusual."

"What do you mean."

"It's all over the net. Last night Malkavians all over the world just started losing it- more so than usual, anyway. Haven't had something like this since the week of nightmares in '99, but… Eh, that's before your time and takes too long to explain. Point is, nobody knows what happened. Hell, nobody knows what's going on with any given Malk. All we know is whatever happened affected the elders the worst. Some of them ended up just falling to dust the moment they stopped. Freaky stuff."

"But Grey's not an elder!" Dave explained. "He's only been dead a few years!"

Bertram gave him an odd look. "He ever talk about his sire?"

"No…"

"Hmm," Bertram turned and started pacing around the couch. Michael watched him closely. "There's been rumors, but no one ever knew for sure."

"Knew what?"

"You ever here of Anatole? The Prophet? No, of course not, still before your time. He gave our clan a lot of headaches over the years, believe me. I spotted him around here back in '99… It was early in the year, before all that weird shit started. That whole year was a mess, I'll leave it at that. Anyway, he was gone about as soon as I got the word out, but afterward your friend Grey turns up. That was before LaCroix came to town, so unclaimed childer happened now and again, but the Anarchs were good at handling any problems. The Voerman twins adopted him before it came to that, which seemed odd but… Malkavians, who the fuck knows?"

"Um… I'm not sure what you mean by all this."

"I don't know either, honestly," Bertram said. "A lot of weird shit's been happening lately. People, our people in particular, are getting worried. All I'm saying is Malkavian elders got the worst of it last night, and Grey might not be one himself, but if he was _embraced_ by one, well, there you go."

"Is he going to be alright? I mean, is he ever going to wake up?"

Bertram shook his head. "I have no idea."

Dave was crushed, but he tried not to show it. "Thanks anyway."

He looked to Michael, he managed to stand on his own without swaying. They made it a few steps toward the door before Dave remembered something.

"Can I ask you one more thing?"

"Sure."

"When we were in the sewers we met Gary. He acted like he wanted to… Well, I wouldn't say kill. Maybe maim me."

"Oh yeah?" Bertram scratched one of the impressive boils on his head. "Doesn't surprise me."

"Why not?"

"Cause your late sire? Josie? She was Gary's favorite."

"Favorite what?" Dave had a bad feeling he already knew the answer.

"Favorite childe, what else? She was the first, too. There's an interesting story there, but I don't really feel comfortable telling it now that it's possible he's out and about again. Besides… CD's only worth so much."

"Right." Dave suddenly felt light headed. "Well, thanks."

"Careful out there," Bertram said, waving to the two of them.

"Yeah…"

The rest of the night continued in a haze. Dave fed, but didn't remember much of how he managed to get the girl away with him. The cab ride home seemed to take two seconds, and by the time the arrived home he only had a few minutes to get upstairs and collapse on the bed.

Gary was his… What? Grandsire? And Grey was the childe of some sort of Prophet, which seemed like a much bigger deal. It was all way too much to take in one night. And he still had to go to Chinatown, still had to go back and deal with Gary once that was done. It would've been so much easier if he never knew any of it.

He fell asleep before he could dwell on it too much.


	44. Speaking in Dreams

**Chapter 44: Speaking in Dreams**

There was a certain point in the morning, usually around nine, when the morning sun came through the windows at just the right angle to make it impossible to stay in bed. Michael rolled over and put a pillow over his head, trying to buy himself just a few more minutes. A few seconds passed before he remembered. He shouldn't be awake, much less lying in the sun. He leapt out of bed, nearly tripping over the blankets in the process. As he untangled the sheet from around his foot, he realized he was in the same ragged t-shirt and pajama pants he always wore to bed. They hung on him like always, showing that he could afford to lose a few pounds before he earned a few love handles.

That wasn't right at all. He ran to the bathroom. The face he saw in the mirror over the sink was the same face he saw every morning. Same blue eyes, same crow's feet, same close cropped hair that only drew attention to the fact his hairline was receding. Same lips, too.

"This can't be," Michael said to his reflection. He'd almost forgotten the sound of his own voice. He touched his face, his lips, even bit his finger, but if it was a dream the twinge of pain didn't wake him up. He turned and stepped back into the bedroom. Julia's side of the bed was empty. She always was an early riser. He could hear birds chirping outside the window. He went to it and looked down at the yard below. Everything looked normal, that was what confused him so badly.

He walked down the hallway and found the children's rooms were empty. The house was too quiet. The same pictures were hanging on the wall leading to the staircase- school pictures, family portraits, vacation photos. Nothing had changed. Everything was as he had left it. He took the stairs one at a time, doubting himself a little more with each one. At the bottom he turned and went directly toward the kitchen, ignoring the living room that he knew would be the same as always.

Maybe the past week had been a bad dream. An incredibly vivid bad dream. But then, vivid dreams were Julia's specialty. If anyone knew how to explain them, she would.

He found her sitting alone at the kitchen table. She looked up and smiled.

"Good morning," she said.

Her honey colored hair was drawn back in a loose ponytail, a few strands had already escaped to frame her face. Michael loved that look, it made her look young and vibrant, and she knew it. Still, her age was showing in the lines that were beginning to deepen in her face, but she was still lovely to him as ever. She was still wearing her sleep clothes, a spaghetti strap tank top and sweat pants. Michael sometimes teased her by saying it looked like she'd stolen them from Sarah, their fourteen year old daughter. They could be, Julia was slender enough to do it, but they weren't. Which reminded him…

"Where are the kids?"

"Jacob spent the night with Hunter. Sarah spent the night with Lydia. It's just you and me."

Michael stepped into the kitchen, his bare feet slapping loudly on the tile floor. He took a seat across from Julia. She sat with her arms folded on the table, which was empty. She was staring at him with an odd look on her face, one that was distant and sad. As convincing as everything else was, that look was all he needed.

"This is a dream," he said.

She nodded.

"Your dream."

She smiled, though she suddenly looked like she was about to cry. "The kids are where I said. I stayed up all night. I figured this was when I could catch you."

Michael tried to push himself up from the table, but as soon as he pressed his hands down a pair of shackles leapt from the polished surface and curled around his wrists. He pulled against them to no avail. The horrible memory of the basement laboratory surfaced as he sank back down into his chair.

"I'm sorry," Julia said. "I didn't want to do it like this, but I was afraid of approaching you myself. You wouldn't believe how difficult this was."

"Julie…"

She ignored him. "The kids are devastated. Jacob, especially. I haven't told them what I know. How could I? It won't be long before they call off the search, after that… Well, you'll be legally dead."

"Julie, please, let me explain!"

"Explain what? Why you lied to me?" Tears were streaming down her face. "Remember what you said? You said you were going with the others to revive a node… a fucking _node_, Michael! You never said a goddamn thing about vampires!"

She all but screamed the last part. Michael tried to pull against the bonds again, and just for that another pair curled around his feet.

"I didn't want you to worry," he said miserably. "After the hotel, I knew you'd be against it."

Julia laughed. "Oh, please! Nothing I could say could stop you from marching off on your stupid crusade! I should have known you'd be looking for some way to make up for what happened. I knew you'd lost you faith, Michael… For god's sake I'm your wife, I don't need magic to know what you're thinking!" Finally winding down, she sat back and wiped her eyes. "I just didn't think you'd do something so fucking _stupid_…"

There was nothing he could say to that.

"It took me a while to figure out what I found," she said. "I never was good with getting visuals. And then when I put it together, I didn't want to believe it… Hell, I was even afraid of what I'd find if I brought you here."

Her eyes roved over him critically. "But this isn't you. Not anymore. It's just what you want to be…"

Michael felt his skin begin to crawl. "Oh god, no, Julie, please, no…"

"I want to see," she said. "It's my dream, Michael. I want to see the truth."

"No you don't!"

But it _was_ her dream, and as one of the Awakened it operated under her rules. Michael dug his fingers into the table, leaving marks in the wood, but there was no stopping what was happening as long as Julia willed it. The truth unfolded before her, twisting his dream form. There was no pain, but it was as if that nightmarish week of changes was replayed again within seconds. He could feel his hair grow past his shoulders as his fingers shriveled. He was still wearing his ring in the dream, and he clenched his fists to keep it from falling off.

"Stop!" Michael cried. "Please! I don't want-"

But that was all he could manage before the grand finale twisted his mouth beyond all hope of speech, turning the last words into unintelligible noise. The horror in Julie's face made him want to die. When it was over, when she got what she'd asked for, all she could do was stare at him. With his hands and feet still bound, all Michael could do to hide himself was bow his head, allowing his hair to fall in a greasy curtain around his face.

"I thought you'd just look dead," Julia said at last, the shock still clear in her voice. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

He lifted his head just enough to glare at her.

"But you're… still you, right?"

He nodded.

Julia folded her arms. "Guess you were wrong."

He put his head down on the table.

"So, what now?" There was a long pause. "I am supposed to hunt you down and put you out of you misery? Is that what you want?"

He sat back up, which made Julia press herself against her chair. Her eyes widened once again at the sight of his mouth, especially when the teeth tensed in yet another futile attempt at speech. Unable to do more than grunt, he shook his head.

"You're sure?" She asked.

He nodded, staring at his shriveled hands as he did so. He held his left hand up so his wedding band would slide back into its proper place.

"_Why_, Michael?"

He couldn't answer. His lips itched fiercely as they pulled themselves back into a normal human shape, but he still had no answer. Instead he said, "The more you do that, the more-"

"The more I risk inviting God's wrath," Julia finished for him. "I know how Paradox works, Michael. This is nothing, it's just fun with lucid dreaming."

"Fun…" he muttered.

"You didn't answer my question."

Michael closed his eyes. "I don't _know_ why."

"If this is some kind of fucked up martyr thing…"

"It's not," he said. "I just… I just feel there's something more I have to do. And, besides that I… I don't want to die. Not yet."

She stared at him for a long while. Michael found himself wishing she had chosen to restore more than just his mouth. He felt horrible. He didn't want her seeing him like this.

"You know... If I went with any other Tradition, I'd probably be obligated to hunt you down. Lots of stipulations about dealing with the unnatural out there… Like we're all that natural ourselves."

Michael licked his lips nervously. "I was afraid you might do that anyway… once you knew."

Julia gave him a withering look. "Who do you think I am?"

That rendered him speechless. He should have known. He'd been such a fool.

"I'm your _wife_, Michael." She surprised him by reaching across the table and putting her hand on his. The shackles vanished. "How many times do I have to say it? I don't care what you are, I don't care by what stupid rules Choristers operate by. I have my own rules, and they work just fine."

"I know…"

"I could have helped you," she said, her voice lowering almost to a whisper. "I could still help you."

Michael shook his head frantically, sending his hair whipping around his face. "No! It's too dangerous!"

"Maybe-" A shrill ringing filled the air. And instantly the dream kitchen began to waver. "Shit. Time passes too damn quickly here."

The room was growing fuzzy, losing definition more by the moment. Julia was waking up. The shackles vanished with the table, allowing Michael grabbed both her hands. "Please, don't try and find me," he said. "If not for your own sake, then for the children."

Julia smiled sadly. Even she was fading. "No promises."

"Wait!" Michael cried.

"What?" Her voice sounded far away. He couldn't see anything now.

"I love you. I'm sorry."

"I know."

He woke up several hours early. He knew from the lethargy that weighted him down that the sun was still up. With a little effort, he could get up, walk through the door, and keep going until he walked into the light for a final time. The pain would be agonizing, he had no doubt, but it would be brief. Then… Then what? Suicide would only be more damning.

Michael sat up from the couch, fighting against the pressure that threatened to drag him back to a lifeless sleep. He had willpower enough to work miracles. It wouldn't take much to walk to his death, instead he settled for reaching up and digging the silver chain out from his shirt. It was the only way he could keep the ring close now. He turned it over in his hands, the familiar weight reassuring him before he let it drop and laid back down.

There has to be another way, he told himself.

Michael closed his eyes. A dreamless darkness took him until sunset. He felt vaguely disappointed when he woke. Seeing Julia again, even if it had only been in dreams, made him miss her that much more. He wanted desperately to see her again, and in person, but as he covered his mouth he knew how foolish the idea was. Better to just let it go. Now if only he could trust his wife to do the same.

He didn't know why he bothered going upstairs when it was still too early for David to be awake, but it was just as well that he did. Upon opening the door the bedroom he saw David lying on the floor, with Heather crouched over him with a knife. She did not look up as he entered, allowing Michael to dart forward and drag her off the sleeping vampire. Heather shrieked and fought against him, the knife falling to the ground as she kicked and twisted.

"No! No!" Heather cried. "You don't understand! I'll die without him! He said so! I'll shrivel up and die! I have to get it from somewhere!"

Michael tightened his grip. The girl was surprisingly strong.

"I'll die!" Heather wailed, still fighting to get free. "I'll die! I'll die! I'll die!"

"What the hell?"

Of course David woke up in the middle of her screaming about dying. Michael, knowing how bad it looked, let Heather go mid-flail, sending her tumbling to the ground. She landed in front of David, who scrambled backwards a little too late. The ghoul lurched forward and grabbed him by the shirt, hauling David closer without any thought for his appearance. Truly she was out of her mind if it didn't even register she was pulling his fang-filled maw right up to her face. David was too stunned to speak. Michael slowly moved forward and kicked the knife under the bed. David noticed. His eyes widened as he made the connection.

"I-I've been thinking," Heather stammered. "All day. What if Grey never wakes up, I thought. What will happen to me? He said it's his blood that keeps me alive. He said I'd die without him. He said he needed me, but I need him more! What if it's already happening? Is it? Oh god, I'm shriveling up right now, aren't I?"

"N-no!" David said. "Look, Heather, I think it'd take a lot longer than one day for that to start. You look fine!"

"You're just saying that!"

She let go of David and began to sob. He looked over her huddled form at Michael. All he could do in response was shrug. She wasn't his problem to deal with.

"Look," David said. "What if I gave you some of my blood? Just to hold you over."

Heather looked up. Michael didn't have to see her face to know the horrible look of hope that would be in her eyes. He'd known enough degenerate members of the Cult of Ecstasy to know that look… the look of a junkie hoping to score. He frowned at David, who was too focused on the desperate girl in front of him to notice.

"I have a knife you can use," Heather offered helpfully. "It's around here somewhere."

"Uh… That's okay. I'll just do it this way."

David raised his wrist to his mouth. He hesitated, then sank his teeth into the flesh. Michael winced and looked away. The smell of blood was strong, and somehow richer than what he was used to. Even well fed, it piqued Michel's appetite. When he looked back, he saw Heather was already latched on to David's wrist, greedily lapping at the dark blood that oozed from the wound. David stared at the ceiling, silently mouthing the words as he counted. At ten, he pushed Heather off. The wound sealed just as Michael realized he'd been staring.

"Better?" David asked.

Heather nodded and wiped her mouth.

"Now, I need you to do me a huge favor," David said.

"Anything."

"Watch over Grey. Don't let him out of your sight, and don't let anyone see him. If he wakes up, then…" He patted his pockets, then sighed. "Then just tell him I've gone to Chinatown, and I'll be back as soon as I can, okay?"

Heather nodded. David rose and turned to face Michael.

"You don't have to come if you don't want to," he said.

Michael reached out and put a hand on his shoulder. The hard look that accompanied the gesture hopefully said enough. David nodded, still looking grim.

"Alright then."

The image of the twisted creature before him seemed to blur, and in the next moment an unremarkable white man was standing in its place.

"No, wait…" David said. The image blurred again, replaced by an equally unremarkable Asian man. "Might as well stick with this, given where we're going."

Michael nodded, only slightly shaken by the displace. And, though he was loath to admit it, he was jealous. David must have seen some of that in his expression.

"Don't worry," he said. "With enough practice you can learn to do the same."

Michael nodded once more. The knowledge wasn't reassuring. What did it matter if he could wear the same illusion? It wouldn't change anything underneath, nor would it allow him to speak again.

"You sure you're up to this?" David asked.

Michael gave him one final, resolute nod, along with a scowl.

"Okay, well, let's go."

David led the way out.


	45. Chinatown

**Chapter 45: Chinatown**

No matter where they went, no matter what time of night at was, there was always the same cab. Same driver, too. Dave hadn't really thought about it, not since the first night, and even then he'd been too frightened to really think of anything beyond how fucked-up everything was. With Grey gone… No, not gone, he couldn't think that. Grey might come back. But without him, the cabbie was the closest thing to a familiar, comforting presence Dave had left, which was sad. He couldn't really count Michael, not even when the guy was sitting right next to him in the back seat. He still didn't understand his motivations, and it was hard not to think of the human mage who tried to kill them back in the haunted hotel. But those were two different people. He must have gone to the King's Way house right after the incident, which practically made his fate their fault. Dave shifted uncomfortably at the thought.

"What happened to your friend?"

It surprised Dave to hear the cabbie speak. The accent was as hard to place as ever. Middle eastern, maybe? That kind of made sense, but he couldn't be certain. The only way he could get a clear look at him would be to lean into the front seat, and he didn't want to see that badly.

"Uh…" Dave said, not sure how much he should disclose. "He wasn't feeling well."

"That is most unfortunate. And your new friend?"

Dave tried to watch the cabbie's expression in the rear view mirror, but all he could see was his dark sunglasses.

"He's…" Dave glanced at Michael. "Kin."

The cabbie chuckled. "Aren't we all?"

The cab turned off the highway. It wouldn't be long before they reached Chinatown. Dave would have happily spent the rest of the ride in silence, but something drove him to keep talking. What was the harm? At the very least the driver was somebody's ghoul, and from what Bertram said the whole Malkavian ordeal was probably common knowledge by now.

"I'm worried about Grey," he said.

"Why is that?"

"He's in torpor, and from what I've heard he might not wake up. Like, ever."

"I would not be so sure of that."

"What do you mean?"

The driver turned at the next light. Dave could see the familiar neon lights in the distance. He suddenly wished they had more time.

"Torpor is but a temporary state of being. The stronger the beast is, the harder it is to claw your way back to consciousness. Ah, but even the most ancient vampire will wake, given time. As for your friend, I would give him a few nights at most."

"And then he'll be alright? But wait, the same thing the got him killed a lot of other Malkavians. Why not him?"

The driver pulled into a parking lot across from the gate to Chinatown. "I dare say your friend will find himself better off than many of his ilk."

"What makes you so sure of that?"

The cab driver smiled. "I get around."

"Okay…" Dave hesitated in the midst of climbing out of the cab. "Thanks, I guess."

The driver nodded. "Be careful. I will be here when you are finished."

Dave waited until they were well into Chinatown before he turned back to Michael. Somehow it still didn't feel like they were far enough.

"That was weird," he said. "You think he was just trying to make me feel better?"

Michael shrugged. He looked troubled. In fact, he'd worn that expression the whole ride over.

"Is something the matter?"

Michael shook his head. All Dave could do was let it drop. Even if the guy could talk, he probably would have kept everything to himself. At least he was good company… Okay, if not good company, then at least he was there to back Dave up. He hoped. Now, more than ever, he wished he knew what Michael was thinking.

****

With a name like the Temple of Golden Virtue, Dave expected something a little more grand. But then, he wasn't exactly sure what to expect, either. He knew damn well the 'Kindred of the East' wouldn't think any better of him being Korean, not when he'd been turned by one of the regular vampires. Right, as if you could call Nosferatu regular. He belonged more in Koreatown, anyway. Ah, who was his kidding? Cultural heritage was never something he paid much attention to, not when he was three generations removed from the motherland. He was out of place no matter how he looked at it.

The garden just beyond the temple gates was eerily quiet. The noise that should have easily filtered in over the walls couldn't seem to penetrate the sanctuary. Michael, perhaps even more ill at ease than he was, stayed close to him as they crossed over a small bridge to what Dave hoped was the receiving room. Or was it tea room? Office? Antechamber? Whatever it was supposed to be, it was the only building open to them. He could see others at the rear of the chamber, but there was a huge koi pond blocking the way on both sides.

The inside of the building, much like the garden outside, bled culture, which left Dave somewhat ashamed that he couldn't think of the proper names for any of the decorations. He wasn't sure what you called the mats under foot, or the little table in the center of the room, or the scroll paintings hanging on the walls. His late grandmother would have been pissed, especially when he walked into the room with his shoes still on.

The women who walked in from one of the side entrances didn't seem to care. She looked almost like a living china doll, so flawlessly beauitful it was unsettling. Her expression was just as cold. Her green silk dress complimented her jade green eyes, something that immediately made Dave think of Big Trouble in Little China. He bit his tongue to keep from smiling. Now definitely wasn't the time. Besides, if this was Ming-Xiao, she was more likely to be the one doing the sacrifices. Not that there were necessarily sacrifices… but Chinatown was a weird place.

"Welcome, Kindred," she said. Dave struggled to hide his surprise at her faux British accent. "And thank you for respecting our traditions by announcing your presence in our domain. I am Ming-Xiao, High Priestess to the people of Chinatown. Can I get you anything? Tea, perhaps?"

The words were cool, clipped, and delivered as if she was reading from a teleprompter somewhere just behind Dave. She was looking through him, as if he wasn't worth her notice. The Beast rankled at that. Dave pushed it down and offered an awkward bow.

"Uh, thank you, but we don't- I mean we can't…" Dave trailed off, realizing the offer had been a veiled insult.

"Ah, that is right," Ming-Xiao sighed. "Your kind drinks solely of mortal blood, correct? No longer may you partake in the simple pleasures of the mortal realm. A shame."

Dave glanced at Michael who was watching Ming-Xiao warily.

"So you can?"

"Yes. We Kuei-jin are similar to you Kindred in fewer ways than you might imagine."

"I guess so," Dave said. "My grandma used to tell me stories. Does that mean you guys are the soul eaters of legend? Y'know, people so tainted they couldn't make it into heaven _or_ hell when they died, so they were doomed to roam the earth as something less than human?" He was vaguely amused to see the impassive mask crack a little. Ming-Xiao's green eyes flashed with anger. Time to change the subject. "But, um, forgive me, that's all just folktales, right? Silly as Dracula. Couldn't pretend to have a clue. Anyway, um, introductions. I'm David Kim this is Michael. An… associate."

Michael nodded curtly.

"Ah, Kim," Ming-Xiao said. "Korean, yes? Such a pity that you found yourself amongst the Kindred. Perhaps, had things been different…" She smiled unpleasantly as she looked him over. "Ah, but no, perhaps not."

_Stuck-up Chinese cunt,_ David thought. He smiled and said, "Yeah, well, what can you do?"

"Indeed… So, what brings you and your 'associate' to my domain, Mr. Kim?"

"We're looking for a missing Nosferatu." Another glance at Michael. He couldn't help it. "One of our clan."

Ming-Xiao smiled. "So. The great Nosferatu have lost an agent, have they? It was not by my hand, if that's what you think."

"Do you know where he might be?"

"I don't know where he is." She reached up and idly tweaked one of the chopsticks in her hair. "Perhaps you should speak with Wong Ho about this."

It was all Dave could do to keep from sighing. He should have known they'd end up running all over the place. "Who is Wong Ho?"

"Wong Ho owns the Red Dragon restaurant. He is a prominent businessman, one who has garnered much respect among his people. If something is amiss in Chinatown, he may know how to help you."

"I guess we're off to the Red Dragon then," Dave said. He didn't feel like arguing with the woman. She gave him the creeps, so much that he almost regretted making the soul eater jab.

Dave's timing was a little better when he and Ming-Xiao bowed. Hers wasn't much of one, but he still went deep just to be safe. He pushed Michael down with him.

"I grant you permission to operate in the Kuei-jin domain... for now." Ming-Xiao said. "May you find your path, Kindred."

"Thanks," Dave said. He couldn't help but notice how close Michael stayed to him as they left. He felt the same way. He also really, desperately hoped they were going to make it out of Chinatown alive.

****

Michael grabbed his arm as they stepped out of the temple. When Dave looked to him for explanation, he pointed down the street. It was still early enough in the evening that there were still plenty of people out, and none of them seem to noticed as a small group of leather clad men ran into an alley. One of them had a girl slung over his shoulder. People in their path looked away as they passed. No one cried out, no one called for the police, they just kept walking.

Dave could feel the anger radiating off Michael. He grabbed him just as he started in the direction the gang had gone. Michael spun around, glaring at him. The mask was pulled taught as his teeth pressed against it. Right, the Beast wasn't something he was used to dealing with, and once it was staring him down Dave remembered he'd neglected to warn Michael about that bit. He managed not to cringe. Instead he tightened his grip, this time to calm the guy down.

"It really, _really_ isn't our place," he said. "We'd better just stick with the plan. One wrong move in this town and we're ash, okay?"

It was hard to meet Michael's blood shot eyes. It was even harder to hold his gaze. After a long, awkward moment, Michael shook him off and started walking at a fast clip. The Red Dragon was just down the street. Dave hurried to catch up. "Look, there's only so much we can do."

Michael grunted. Somehow it sounded a lot like 'shut up' to Dave, so he did.

****

The Red Dragon was one of those places offering the closest thing to authentic Chinese cuisine as was tolerated in the west. The décor involved lots of dark red with gold accents, and the music filtering through the place had that twangy, traditional sound to it. A huge fish tank walled off the main dining area and made the patrons sitting on the other side look like they were enjoying chow mein at the bottom of the ocean. The doorway to the lounge on the left was just an archway, nothing special, because the kind of people who made a beeline for it wouldn't care.

The hostess leaning against the podium wasn't Asian by any stretch, but she'd tried to make up for it with a red silk dress and some creative eye liner work. She was already reaching for menus as Michael and Dave approached.

"Table for… two?" The sight of Michael made her pause.

"Don't mind him," Dave said. "Huge germophobe is all. We need to see Wong Ho. Ming-Xiao sent us."

The hostess gave them a skeptical long, then sighed and rolled her eyes. "I'll get the elevator." She hit a button behind the podium and the wooden panels to the right slid open to reveal the hidden elevator.

The office on the second floor was considerably more subdued with the whole Asian theme, though the Wong Ho's actual office was behind a screen door. Dave pulled it back to find a middle aged man in a suit, presumably Wong Ho, pacing in front of the desk. The moment he saw Dave he stopped and grabbed him by the shirt with both hands.

"They took her! They took her!" Wong Ho cried. Dave looked over and frantically shook his head to stop Michael from intervening.

"Calm down," Dave said, gently prying Wong Ho off him. Beside him, Michael reluctantly stood back. "Who did they take?"

"Kiki, my daughter." Wong Ho turned toward his desk, ringing his hands frantically. "They grabbed her. They called and said Wong Ho has meddled with Tong for the last time!"

Dave and Michael exchanged a look. Michael looked smug. Dave, on the other hand, tried not to jump to conclusions. The Tong kidnapped girls left and right, didn't they?

"Look, um… This might not be the best time, but Ming-Xiao sent us to talk to you."

"Ming-Xiao?" Wong Ho turned, his eyes widening. He tried to smooth the lines of his suit, as if that was all it would take to fully regain his composure. "Oh, of course. Please forgive me, but as you can see I am in a most terrible situation."

"Don't worry about… I'm Dave, this is Michael."

He nodded in return. "I am Wong Ho, owner of the Red Dragon. Again, I apologize for my inconsiderate behavior."

"Really, it's nothing. Now, what's going on here?"

Wong Ho turned and began to pace again. "The Tong... a local street gang here in Chinatown, just broke into my restaurant and kidnapped my daughter at gunpoint." He stopped and pounded one fist on his desk. "The Tong grow more bold every day, and now they have my Kiki!"

Michael nudged Dave hard in the ribs. He got the picture. There was probably no avoiding this. "Do you have any idea where she is? We could go get her…"

"No. The Tong have many-" There was a muffled chirp from Wong Ho's pocket. "Uh, wait."

He withdrew a slender cell phone and turned away from them. "Please excuse me a moment. Hello? Zhao!"

Dave looked at Michael, who shrugged. Wong Ho's conversation continued on without them.

"Huh? Yes! How did you...? Of course. I see. Thank you, my friend. Your debt has been repaid a thousand times over. Yes. Of course. Goodbye."

"Who was it?" Dave asked.

"That was..." Wong Ho frowned as he slipped the cell phone away. "Someone who owed me an old debt. It has been repaid. I know where the Tong are keeping my daughter."

"Where?"

"Kiki is being held at the Lotus Blossom, a massage parlor here in Chinatown. If you bring her back to me, I will help you in any way that I can."

"Of course." Dave glanced over at Michael, who looked strangely… Well, maybe excited wasn't the right word. "We'll bring her back safely, don't worry."

And then maybe we can finally get down to business, he silently added. But then, a girl needed help. He should feel just as eager as Michael to help, not hassled. Grey was more the table to feel hassled, which was a scary thought. Dave worried about that as they rode the elevator back down to the restaurant level. He hadn't been dead that long… but then, he'd probably seen more shit in a few days than most vampires had to deal with in their first _years_ of undeath. Maybe it was wearing on him. Shit, he hadn't even really killed anybody, unless he counted those monsters… did they count?

Dave looked over at Michael as the elevator doors slid open. "You ready for this?"

Michael nodded. That made one of them.


End file.
